Īnsusurrō
by Negare
Summary: A few months after the horrors of the 2005 attack on Autobot City, the twins are dealing with things in their own way. But something sinister is afoot... Yay. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Author's NB: I had the idea for this story months ago but was going to wait till I finished my current Twins adventure, but I've had writer's block for that one and this one was gnawing away inside my grey matter. Anyway, it'll get more amusing as time goes on and it probably doesn't take much intelligence to figure out where I'm going to take this!!

--

7th December, 2005.

He lay on his berth, staring up at the ceiling his annoying brother, or someone, had plastered glow in the dark stickers of fairies and other mythological human creatures used to soothe their offspring. It was night. Darkness had descended quickly, the time of the year humans called "Winter" had begun just a week or so ago, and with it darkness seemed to settle swiftly. He hadn't been able to effectively re-charge since _that _day. The day when Autobot society changed for ever. Optimus Prime was dead. There was a new leader, a young mech who seemed to come up out of no where. There was a raft of new Autobots in the days of construction and now there seemed to be even more with the recent events. Now, there was a huge repair mission going on, specialists in construction were working overtime, round the clock shifts to get at least the rudimentary defences up and running in case of a follow up attack.

The Decepticons, they too had lost their leader, but Megatron was replaced by a Con no one had seen before, there were rumours that he was Megatron, that Unicron had given him a new form. Of course, that Decepticon was now missing, the Decepticons had retreated to Primus only knew where, and the Autobots and Earth were picking up the pieces.

He'd over heard Spike telling First Aid that the human death toll was in the thousands. That there was a great deal of damage done by the Decepticon attack on the city. Pollution caused by the massive spills of energon and fuels, not to mention smoke had killed a lot of animals and destroyed a lot of vegetation surrounding.

But to him and his brother, there was perhaps a closer tragedy. Their sparring partner, for lack of a better term, Ratchet, was dead.

Sunstreaker wasn't there, but he'd seen the body, the surgeon had gone down fighting, he'd gone down bravely, he'd gone down as an Autobot. The giant crypt they'd constructed for the resting place of their felled kin had been launched a few days ago, amazingly without the knowledge of the humans. Rodimus said they needed to grieve free of human cultural interference, and something told him that they needed their own space. There were human reporters and celebrities and politicians spouting in the media that however many "robots" died, it didn't come close to the value of one human life, that these "machines" had bought it on themselves and they deserved whatever fate they suffered.

Spike had taken off with his life partner and offspring to some other part of the planet just to get away from the massive throng of death that lay splayed about the landscape. He'd told First Aid that Daniel was having serious problems dealing with Prime's death and the things he'd seen over the worst time of the attack had seriously dented his mental health.

The golden painted robot yawned, an action he'd picked up from the organics and rolled onto his side, attempting to get a better position on his berth. Recharge was fleeting and it didn't seem to want to embrace him. It was starting to piss him off. It was as he rubbed his optics that he was aware he was being watched.

"Fuck off, Sides, I don't have time for your bullshit!"

He growled as he rolled to face the wall, making sure his aft plates slipped slightly too partially "moon" his twin.

There was no response, but the sensation of being watched continued.

"For Primus' sake! Sides, get in your berth and go to recharge, I'm in no fucking mood…."

He repositioned himself on to his back and scratched his shoulder.

Silence.

"Seriously, Sides, I need my recharge, do you have any idea what dim optics are going to do for my appearance?"

He sat up, activated the lights and found himself staring into an empty quarter.

"What the Pit?"

He stood from the berth and walked to the door, it was locked, the sensor indicated no one had entered since he had.

He shrugged it off as his sensors flickering from lack of recharge, he decided to go nag First Aid for something to force his systems into recharge – Ratchet would never have yielded such a narcotic, but First Aid was a bit of a soft pumped pussy and it didn't take much to twist his struts into giving up something.

--

The corridors near his quarters had once been busy at this time of night, bustling with soldiers, officers and other such Mechs going about their business, heading to shifts, to duties, to patrols, but now, it was freakishly empty. The majority of his neighbours on this floor were now recharging forever in that big monstrosity they blasted into the cold depths of space. Ironhide and Brawn shared the quarters straight across from him, Prowl was to the right of Ironhide, and had a corner room. It was Wheeljack who had the quarters to the right of him and on the left was Windcharger and Beachcomber. Trailbreaker had the smallest room on the floor which was by the entrance, next to his was Smokescreen. Bluestreak's quarters been opposite Trail's but he'd been missing since the attack and was presumed dead. It was this corridor in the living compound that had suffered the most fatalities and now sadly the majority of its rooms stood empty, in fact, despite it being several months since their deaths, their rooms had still not been cleared out or re-inhabited. It was actually only Sunstreaker and his brother who still remained here. There were other rooms in other parts of the living compound which were empty due to death that were in more "lively" areas, but the twins had decided against moving into rooms of those who had died that they had fought with, not of any fear of the supernatural, but out of respect.

The twins were the ones in the Autobot ranks who did the missions so many of their fellows refused to do either because of the danger involved or that any hint of morality or principals they held had to be ignored in order to get the job done. So really, neither of them were too worried about living off a corridor that once bustled with the lively antics of their fellows. It was war. Soldiers died in war. That was how it worked.

So, it was a strange feeling to him when he was sure he was being followed down the hall. He'd turned twice to view the hall behind him, but it was empty. All the rooms that had belonged to the deceased were locked securely; no one could get into them unless they had priority one clearance.

"Seriously, Sides, piss off!"

He barked into the hall as he reached the doors that would lead out into the main communal section. There was no response, he shook his head and then exited.

--

"Yo, doc?!"

He bellowed as he marched into the repair bay.

First Aid was a very different doctor to Ratchet; for starters, Aid wouldn't kill you if you touched his medical stuff. He ran a med bay Autobots were happy to go to after any battle, and certainly after any self-inflicted injuries caused by unruly shenanigans. Aid was compassionate, caring, calm and gentle. Completely opposite to the previous surgeon. And there was nothing scary about Aid.

"Hey, DOC!!"

He screamed at the top of his vocaliser.

Suddenly hurried footsteps echoed through the large room. The doctor appeared from out of a passageway that led into a storage room.

"Yes! I'm here! What's the emergency?"

"No emergency doc, just after something to knock me into recharge".

"You haven't been recharging?"

First Aid replied.

"Yeah, hence the need for a charge pill".

"How long have you been unable to recharge efficiently?"

"I'm not here for a check up, doc, I just want something to help me sleep".

"Yes, tonight of course, but what about tomorrow, and the next night and the cycle after? IF we can find out the reason for your inability to settle into recharge then you won't end up relying on a recharge initiator".

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I wouldn't be much of a physician if I did".

"Okay, alright, I guess it can't be much of a nuisance, I'm awake anyway".

"Alright, come into the examination bay".

It was rather creepy to see just how empty the facility was of patients – primarily because so many had come in from the major battle with fatal injuries that there weren't any who needed long term care.

First Aid, of course, was nervous and tended to underestimate his skill given his mentor was dead and he was thrust into Autobot medicine's top job, so while some were happy to head over to Aid's bay for compassion, there was always trepidation at his ability to patch up the worst injuries.

Sunstreaker sat on the examination berth while the doctor picked up some complicated looking scanner.

"Now, just relax, this won't hurt a bit, though some patients report a tingling in their audio scanners".

The young doctor began the scan but something didn't seem right.

"What's the matter, doc?"

Sunstreaker asked.

"Hmm, nothing major, the power cell in this scanner is spent; I'll just go get another".

The medic left.

Sunstreaker leant back on his left hand and noticed a scuff on his right thigh.

"Oh, typical! Wonder how long its been there?"

He grumbled as he picked up a small cloth on the side bench and began to buff the scratch.

BANG.

Sunstreaker turned abruptly thinking it was the young doctor returning, he wasn't there, but a large tray laid on the floor a few metres from where he sat.

"What was that?"

First Aid came back into the room with the scanner in one hand and an unopened power cell in the other.

"Dunno, that tray just fell on the floor".

Sunny pointed, the cloth still in his hand.

"That's odd, I mustn't have placed it correctly on the table, it's got an edge, it should have stayed put".

There was a hint of disbelief in the medic's voice, and Sunstreaker got the feeling that the doctor had probably been informed of the twins' antics by his former mentor.

"Well, never mind".

The medic shrugged as he inserted the power cell into the scanner. He held it up to the twin's head and began the scan.

"Hmmm… interesting".

"What?"

"This one is working, but there's a lot of back ground interference".

"I thought the med bay was insulated against background interference".

"Its supposed to be, but I guess with all the construction going on someone may have inadvertently deactivated the insulators or something".

"Look, doc, can I just get something to knock me out, I'll put up with your dodgy scanners some other time".

First Aid looked patiently at the twin and nodded sympathetically.

"Of course, I'll go get something".

The medic shuffled out quickly.

The twin was left alone in the room. But again that sense of being watched came over him. There was no other way into this room except through the door he'd just come through. No one was in here. Perhaps knowing First Aid was just in the next room was mudding his scanners. The medic returned before the twin could fuss over any other concerns.

"Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

He asked as he handed the twin the small box.

"Actually, doc…"

The twin started, not sure if he should say anything.

"I've been getting feelings lately that someone's watching me".

"Oh, that's quite usual for someone who hasn't recharged correctly for a few cycles. Now, when you get back to your berth, slip this into a cup of energon and drink it down. You should begin recharge shut down within three clicks, so be near your berth! If you're still having trouble recharging in a few days or your senses are playing tricks on you, come back and I'll do a full systems scan. Chances are once you get one good recharge, you'll be fine".

"Alright… thanks doc".

The twin replied taking the small box from the medic.

--


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

10th December, 2005

Something jolted him out of recharge. He was up immediately, his laser drawn from sub-space and aimed in the direction of the source.

Nothing.

"Ah!! Slaggin' recharge initiators!"

He grumbled loudly, laser returned into subspace and he was again on his back staring up at those damn fairies.

Now he had that feeling something was watching him. He got up, activated the lights and began searching the room. Millions of years of war and action had finely tuned his sensors, and when they told him someone or something was watching him. Could it possibly be a camera? He wondered… well, that could either support Decepticons as the culprits or a few Autobots. Of course, the Decepticons had bigger concerns then what the twins got up too and the Autobots, well, to be honest, those that would bother about such an invasion were offline, permanently – unless the camera had been placed there before their demise and only now it had activated.

Well, that thought caused a rush of paranoia through his systems. The twin began searching through their possessions to find the source of the damn camera. He was on his knees, poking about the boxes of things under his berth.

"What ya lost, bro?"

"There's a fucking camera in here!"

He growled to his twin who had just walked in.

"Seriously? A camera?"

"Yeah".

"There's one in the drawer".

"Seriously? How long has it been there?"

The yellow brother was up on his feet and over to the drawer rummaging through the contents.

"I dunno, I got it from Spike a few years back, you know, that little thing he had for his offspring's mucous covered explosion into this world".

Sunstreaker turned to look at his twin, the small black box that contained the camera in his hand.

"I don't mean this; I mean someone has snuck in here and placed a camera in this room!"

"What the slag makes you think there's a camera in here?"

"Because I can feel someone is watching me!"

He growled.

"Bro, I think you need to just settle down, maybe go bother Aid for another recharge initiator".

"Look, this is going to sound crazy, but the last few nights I've been feeling as if someone is watching me. I'm sure there's something in here watching us".

"Oh, don't be so paranoid, for Vector's sake, there's no camera in here, there's no one out to watch us, and if the only people who probably would have been offline for a few months, so stop freaking out over nothing. Cos, seriously bro, there's a lot of vacant rooms, so don't creep me out or I'll move out!"

"Sigh. Fine, don't believe, but just don't come whinging to me when your naked aft ends up on YouTube!"

"I'm pretty sure my naked aft is already on YouTube, and face book, and twitter, and MySpace and a few other sites that you need a credit card to access… heheh".

"Oh for slag's sake!"

Sunstreaker threw a broken digi pad at his twin.

"Oh! You're going down!"

Sideswipe picked up a raggy old magazine with a femme plastered over the front and was about to flick it when there was a sudden loud thump.

"What was that?"

The red twin asked as he lowered his arm turning his head over to the direction of the sound.

Sunstreaker was already walking towards the small side table that had fallen on its side.

"How did that happen?"

Sideswipe inquired as he dropped the magazine on the bench.

"I dunno…"

The golden twin picked up the table and began to examine the legs of the small wooden piece.

"It's perfectly even…"

He handed it to his brother.

"That's just weird, bro".

"I'm telling you, someone's doing something to annoy us. To annoy me. The camera, this, its gotta be someone's prank".

"OUCH! SLAG!!"

"What?"

Sunstreaker screeched at his brother.

"Hahaha! Nothing! Dude, you're too much fun when you get this riled up! Well, I'm getting out of here, got a date with Minute".

"Minute? That grey femme off the new transport?"

"Yeah!"

"Slaggin pit yeah, that femme is gyrating!!"

"I sure hope so bro, so don't wait up. I just came back here to get… this".

He held up a bottle of wax from the bench and began to lather it over his face.

"Yeah, I'm hard to resist when I'm all shiny!"

"Slag you".

"Hahah, catch ya later bro!"

The red twin left, the doors closing behind him, leaving Sunstreaker alone in the room he was sure was bugged.

"Slag this".

Sunstreaker walked out the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

11th December, 2005

"Hey, Sunny, Sides lock you out again?"

The yellow twin opened his optics and stared up at the mech who stood over him.

"What the Pit do you want, Jazz?"

"Don't want nuffin, dude, just thought I'd tell ya Kup and Magnus are on the loose and are hitting out at anyone who's not behaving themselves, keeping the place clean or adhering to military etiquette, and recharging in the armoury is probably not going to be on their list of "things allowed". Well, catch ya later, man, cos I certainly don't want to be seen as an accomplice".

Jazz chuckled and left through one of the side doors. The twin groaned and sat up, he hadn't recharged well, he wasn't sure if it was the cold hard floor of the ammunition store or if it was whatever was keeping him online in his own quarter.

He became aware of something watching him again, he stood and activated his sensors to their most acute, he turned left, then spun right, trying to see who could be there.

"Jazz? If you're still here I'll hammer your aft into sheet metal!"

Nothing.

"Sides… what's the matter? Minute see you're all shine and went off with a real mech?"

Silence.

Something whacked him on the head.

"What the?"

He looked at what it was, it was small and had just landed on the floor at his feet. A shell casing. He picked it up and examined it. Probably just rolled off the shelf.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Three more shell casings and they all seemed to land smack back on the top of his head. That was weird, but not impossible. He turned to the shelf to see if he could find the open box that the shells were obviously coming from… but why someone would put a box of spent shells back in the armoury he didn't know why… of course, this new city commander, Magnus, apparently he was quite prim, proper and pedantic and so wanted empty casings back for some kind of inventory. He climbed up onto the shelving and looked on the top. There was no empty box, or any box for that matter, not even a shell, just a slightly dusty shelf.

He then felt two firm hands on his shoulders and next thing he knew he was falling backwards.

--

"Hello, Sunstreaker, its me, First Aid, can you hear me? You're in the repair bay, you had a little… mishap. You're okay now though so don't worry, alright, now I'm going…"

"Out of the way, geek wad! Hey, bro! BRO! Wake up bro! Slag!"

"Maaaan… Sides? That you bro?"

"Yeah, bro, its me!"

"Holy slag, what hit me, how the pit did I end up here?"

"Ah… a big shelf of ammo and weapons landed on you".

"Oh yeah, that's right… some bastard pulled me… I fell back… guess I went into statis for a few cycles".

"Yeah, you've been out for 12 hours!"

"Someone pulled you from the shelving?"

Sunstreaker heard a gruff voice and he sat up slowly on the medical berth. His twin was standing next to him, the medic was just to the side of him fussing with one of his machines, Kup was standing at the end of the bed with Ultra Magnus.

"Well, lad?"

"Well, what?"

"I asked if someone really pulled you from the shelving?"

Magnus added, irritation in his voice evident.

"Yeah, I was up on the shelving when I felt someone's hands on my shoulders and yanked me backwards".

"Why were you climbing on the shelves that hold ammunition?"

"Ah, some empty casings fell on my head, I was sure they came from the top of the shelf so I had a look…, but there was nothing there, I guess it was just a few empty casings".

"And this was in ammunition store 54-BY-2?"

"Yeah".

"Why would there be empty shells on top of a shelf in 54-BY-2?"

"I dunno. But there were, and they fell on me".

"I'm more concerned with who would pull you off the shelving".

Kup replied.

"I didn't see anyone, but I was sure someone was watching me for a moment".

"Well, if you think of anything else, let us know. We will let you rest, but be assured, Sunstreaker, we will be having a conversation as to the reason you in an ammunition store without authorisation".

Magnus growled. The two then walked out.

"Wow, what a total prick".

Sideswipe grumbled.

First Aid gasped.

"Its almost like he didn't believe me!"

"Yeah, well, you gotta admit, bro, it's a bit far fetched, and what were you doing in an ammo store?"

--

"Something about that mech doesn't sit right, Kup".

"You're right about that lad, Perceptor worked up some specs, there's no way Sunstreaker could have pulled the shelving down with him, it was bolted to the wall with such force that Omega Supreme would work up a sweat just moving a bolt. But not only did he manage to hold on, he managed to yank the shelving off the wall when he came down".

"Which means that whoever pulled him off was so powerful and large that it'd be hard for Sunstreaker _not _to have noticed".

"Pretty much sums it up lad".

"What do the personal files say about this mech? Could he have some enemy within our ranks?"

"Personal files are somewhat fragmented from the attack on the city and the damage to the Arc, but from what we can gather from the former security officer's personal files, he's a bit of a prankster and he's known to bother others for a cheap laugh. Of a perhaps more vindictive reporting nature, its been mentioned that Sunstreaker is possibly suffering from a form of post traumatic stress syndrome caused by his missions, and in particular a rather vain streak which has caused on occasion serious interference with missions".

"Hmm, so a trouble maker with a short fuse, it appears".

"Apparently so, Magnus".

"Keep an eye on things here, Kup, I need to check on Rodimus".

--


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

13th December, 2005

"Can I go now? I mean, seriously, Aid, how long do I have to be stuck in here? I'm fine! Run a systems check if you don't believe me!!"

"Its not that I don't believe you Sunstreaker, its just your linkage took a rather large jolt from the force of your fall… as strange as such a small fall could cause such a big jolt… but none the less, I just want to keep you at least one more rotation to be sure that whatever issues you had don't flare up. And, as I recall, you were having trouble with initiating your recharge cycle, and that your sensors were acting up, so at least now you're here I may as well look into those queries".

The young doctor looked over a pile of digipads as he stood at the end of Sunstreaker's berth. The golden twin just sighed, crossed his arms over his chest plate and slumped backwards into head of the bed, which was sat up at a 45 degree angle. He had to admit it was pretty comfy, and he was getting out of patrol, which lately had been very, very mundane given the 'Cons had so many problems of their own they hardly had the time to go gallivanting around the smouldering remains of Autobot city.

"Well, I'll be in the next room; I've got to start sorting out the stock. We received a whole host of supplies today and I can't wait to see what's in it!!"

"Oh, right, great, have fun, doc".

Sunstreaker seemed less then impressed. The doctor left him to his thoughts and exited through a side door.

The twin stretched his legs out and wriggled what would pass as toes as he noticed how boring it was to be conscious in this place. At least when Ratchet was alive the surgeon was so riled up that every second in spent in repair bay was exciting and amusing… of course, it was only actually when he, or his brother, or one of the other "regulars" that Ratchet got riled. Whenever Bumblebee or Perceptor or Skyfire got injured it was the best of care with at least a watered down version of Ratchet's trade mark bedside manner. Sunstreaker grinned to himself, placing his hands up behind his head as he recalled an event where he and his brother, while injured and laid up in Ratchet's repair bay, managed to magnetise every medical instrument the surgeon had and then take turns throwing it at the cantankerous doctor.

Sunstreaker picked up the remote that was sitting on the bench next to his berth and he flicked on the TV. The satellite connections hadn't been finalised and repaired yet, so the med bay still only got human channels and none of the good stuff from other mechanical words. He found himself mindlessly flicking through the fleshy stupidity that passed and "prime time television", he thought the phrase was rather amusing, and for the longest time believed it actually had something to do with their former leader, turned out it didn't. There were only three channels he got with sparkling clarity and another six that were blurred beyond comprehension, but had sound, and four more that had some visual but whose sound was rather garbled. He settled for one of the clearer pictures, a news show that was talking about some war that had started in some human nation that had been started by the Americans. He was not one to follow human politics given he thought they were all stupid little blobs who weren't worth his time… okay, so Spike was okay, and Carly was pretty cool, Chip was a total nerd, but his brains had saved their arses on a few occasions… Sparkplug, well, they had their differences, but at least he was fully mature and weren't a complete idiot or a pansy, Spike and Carly's offspring… Daniel… well, that thing was just strange. One of the humans was harping on about how the war was unjust and that there were no super weapons of any description in said country that had been invaded and another human was saying they were there, they just had to look hard enough and another human was going on about how regardless of super weapons, democracy was needed.

"Primus, humans sure have squeaky voices".

He said to himself as he flicked over to one of the other clearer channels. It was a cartoon, there was a very ugly little human boy, hanging out with a blond haired surly looking girl and a character who was from human mythology known as the "grim reaper". He couldn't remember the name of the show, but his brother absolutely loved it. The golden twin managed all of five minutes of it and then finally, he gave up on it. If he thought the humans who were ranting about the war had squeaky voices, these little hand drawn humans were even worse!! Though, the beating the grim reaper dolled out on that ugly little boy was rather amusing. He uttered a chuckle before flicking back to the war discussion. The fattest human, harping on about the unjust nature of the war, was half way through a rail about oil when the TV suddenly went dead.

"Oh great! Now how will I ever function without knowing the outcome of this debate?"

He sighed sarcastically as he put the remote down on the side bench.

"Piece of slag".

He crossed his arms over his chest and lent back against the head of the berth.

WHAM!

The whole head of the bed slammed back against the support structure, leaving the golden twin flat on his back.

"What the hell?"

"What's the matter? What's happened? Are you okay? Sunstreaker?"

The medic appeared in the door looking flustered.

"Nothing, Aide, just the crappy equipment you got here!"

"Excuse me?"

He asked, not offended, just concerned.

"Well, first your TV crapped out on me, and even before it only got three channels".

"That's odd, the TV worked fine this morning, and you should be able to get at least 50 human channels with clarity".

"Well, you're welcome to try… see… look, nothing!"

The twin held the remote at the TV flicking a few buttons, nothing happened. He handed it across to the doctor who pressed a button bringing up a screen with two humans engaging in pre-interface behaviour.

"Now, I know you're bored, Sunstreaker, but could you find some other way to amuse yourself. Perhaps you could rest some more, actually, I recommend it".

The doctor said as he flicked through several channels, all of which were working perfectly.

"Do you want your head up a notch?"

The surgeon asked as he placed the remote down on the small bench.

"Yeah, sure".

The twin replied, a little grumpy, but at least the TV was working.

The doctor adjusted the berth, smiled politely and then left.

Sunstreaker picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV, he flicked it through channels of static, several of which had been fine when the medic was present.

"Oh, stuff this!"

He growled, as he lent over to turn it off manually and then placed the remote on the table.

--

"…and reduce the company to four main brands, this of course, will mean plant closures throughout the United States, angering workers' unions".

Sunstreaker's optics flickered online and he sat up to see where background nose had come from.

"…some believe this is another step closer to bankruptcy and share holders are angry at not having information about this merger and disillusion of brands prior to the announcement".

The TV… but he'd turned it off.

The medic was no where to be seen.

"First Aid?"

Nothing.

"Doc?"

Silence.

"You there?"

"…the governing board has reported that if people want this company to retain its iconic status in America and not move all operation overseas, then this is the best option to take".

"I don't care what you say, Aide, this TV is rubbish, but I guess the saying is true, you get what you pay for".

He grumbled as he turned off the TV again.

He hadn't even lay back when it flicked on again.

"…I know he was your life partner, Josh, but he's gone, you have to move on, he'd want you too! And I want to move on with you!"

"What the…?"

The twin turned it off again at the actual machine.

But sure enough as soon as he was back against the berth it flicked on.

"…and the Tigers trailed by five at half time, only to come back in the second and claim the Woodlyn trophy".

This time Sunstreaker got off and actually pulled the plug out of the wall.

"…but you made one big mistake, Mr. Gotten, the chewing gum, you left it under the table and we were able to get both a print and the unique imprint of your tooth… you're going away for the rest of your life, Mr. Gotten".

"What. The. Pit?"

Sunstreaker stood there holding the power cable of the TV while the thing continued. What got him was that when you turned the TV off and on again it would remain on the last selected channel. Something was really wrong. He flicked the cord down and went to the TV.

Or it was battery operated.

If he had blood, it would have chilled when his scans revealed no battery, no remote receiver and not an amp of power passing through its primitive circuits.

Suddenly the TV flicked off just as the doctor walked in the room.

"What are you doing up Sunstreaker? Now, I may not be as strict as some of the previous medical staff but I wont' tolerate you up and about until we've cleared you medically, understand?"

"But Aide, your TV its totally…"

"Totally cheap, yes, I know, I've already had three complaints from Springer, Rodimus and Jazz as to the poor sound and colour quality of this thing, but its all I've got. Feel free to donate one if you'd like, now back on the berth".

He pointed, trying to be stern, but failed. However, the twin did concede and climbed up.

First Aid plugged the TV back in and then left to work in the side room again, the twin tried to settle back into some form of recharge, if only to escape the weird television.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

14th December 2005

"Hey bro".

"Hey".

"Made it through Aid's lovely dubby everyone needs to express their hurts crap?"

"Yeah".

"He figured out why you couldn't initiate recharge properly?"

"He said it was stress".

"So nah".

"Yeah".

"You get it with that femme?"

"Minute?"

"Yeah".

"Nah".

"Stink. Probably a lezfem".

"Hah, probably".

"You got patrol?"

"Yeah. When they sending you out?"

"Aid told Kup to keep me off duty for a few more rotations".

"Cool".

"Nah, Kup didn't listen".

"Why?"

"Cos he caught me out joy riding, and figured if I'm well enough to joy ride then I'm well enough to patrol".

"Slag".

"Nah, its all good, better then sitting around here".

"True that".

"What about you?"

"Ah! Slaggit, bro, Red Alert is so damned angsty since the big attack; he's got me doing guard on Solias".

"WTF? Solias? All that's over there is a good view of the sewer entrance and a warehouse full of empty crates, most of them broken at that!"

"Yeah, well, he seems to think it's a perfect entrance for grumpy 'Cons, out to hit us while we're down".

"Last I checked, they're in worse shape then us!"

"Pit yeah".

"When you got that shift?"

"Starts in half an hour, I needed to come back here and make sure I had my new code working, Kup has started overhauling the whole security system and he's changed all codes, and I didn't want to be crawling in here at 0700 trying to get in with an expired code. What about you, what'd that old codger stick you with?"

"Bloody patrol out the north-east end".

"Up by the mountain range?"

"Yeah".

"Oh, man, bro!! Your suspension is going to kill you!"

"Yeah, well, I blame Trailbreaker, if he were still here it'd be him doing the dash".

"Is he offline?"

"I dunno, I heard he was, I mean, I haven't seen him around in ages".

"Are you sure? I thought he was transferred off world for a bit, up to the moonbase or Europe or some place with more hills then flats".

"Well, he obviously can't be around here since if he was he'd have his hand up for this job".

"Shame Roddy hasn't been able to reign in the likes of Beachcomber".

"That slaggin' hippy needs a good kick up the aft, if Kup or Magnus was all they were cracked up to be they'd have that dirt digging flower power sissy working the hard yards and not substituting is energon with Primus only knows what".

"Doesn't help that the new doc only has "suggestion" talks with him and doesn't weld his aft to the wall".

"Haha, wasn't that a laugh, remember that, when Ratch welded that dirty hippy to the wall of the arc, and right outside".

"Oh yeah!! Man, that was awesome…"

A moment of reflective silence passed between the two.

"Well, I better get going, I hear Magnus is on the prowl and he's out for energon… someone pissed him off and I don't what was done or who did it, but he's mad as and I'm in no mood for half rations, triple duty or no rec time or whatever he feels is the going rate of reprimand".

"Yeah, bro, I better head off now too, actually".

The twins departed their quarters together.

--

Sideswipe sat against the wall of the Solias building. It had been crafted using materials from the Arc. It was the first structure erected on this site, which before Autobot City had been dreamed up, was just a small sentry tower and office structure. No one really even bothered about manning it when it was just those things. Autobot City had been built around it for Primus only knew what reason. Grapple was a perfectionist and completely pedantic about everything he did, so it seemed odd that such a structure would be allowed to remain.

It housed very little in the way of valuables to anyone, it wasn't even close enough that if a Decepticon did infiltrate that they could use it to launch a full scale attack. As it was, they came straight down in an Autobot shuttle – that was what had shocked everyone, and probably frizzled a few too many of Red's logic circuits.

Since the structure had remained, and Autobot City completed, the reality was, or at least perceived reality was, that those who's job it was to guard it, had usually done something to piss someone off. And well, as one of the twins, it was a daily occurrence this pissing people off.

There was movement behind him. He craned his neck and turned his head sideways.

"What?"

He asked, matter of factly.

There was no response.

"Fine, whatever".

He added crossing his arms over his chest.

The sounds of movement were gone but there was that unsettling feeling that someone was watching him.

"Hey! Piss off! I'm busy okay?"

He grumbled… inwardly hoping it was one of the senior officers so he could justify his causal swearing. Optimus was a great leader, yeah, but he also knew what it meant to be one of the slobs, and he certainly understood and appreciated the job the twins did – so he was more then happy to ignore the causal foul vocaliser of a few of the troops. Ironhide had been more then capable of letting rip a torrent of profanities that would make even the sternest Con cringe. Rumour had it that Megatron frowned upon any foul language used by his troops, and while that rumour may have been just that, Sideswipe had to admit he'd never heard a Decepticon swear for the sake of swearing. He'd recently heard Kup announce he didn't trust people who didn't swear, especially soldiers, he was involved in the conversation, merely overheard it in the communal fuelling facility, his logic was, if you didn't swear, well, it meant you were hiding your true self, a good swear meant you were alive, meant you felt, his logic was questioned when someone pointed out Perceptor didn't swear, which then led into a discussion about the scientist probably having a good curse out in the privacy of his own lab – and besides, how many mechs actually hung out with that "nerd".

He flicked a small pebble that was sitting near him, his thoughts keeping him from the sensation he was being watched, which continued. He decided to ignore it, if there was someone there, they'd either jump out and give him a fright or were watching to ensure he was alert at his post.

Footsteps were very clear to him now. He was aware of them coming up from his right. He stood arrogantly, prepared to turn and face whoever approached him and make some smart arse remark about him paying enough attention to be acutely aware of the new comer's presence. The individual stood next to him and tapped the twin on the shoulder.

"Yeah, what'd'ya want?"

There was no one there.

"Whah…"

Silence.

No whirl of internal mechanisms. No exhaust breath. No small minor movements.

Nothing.

Even with Mirage, you knew he was there if you were that close to him, you could feel the heat generated from his systems, his oral vents cooling his CPU, the small clicks joints and linkage made upon movement.

But he heard the footsteps.

He was tapped on the shoulder.

A sudden slap on the arse.

"WHAT THE SLAG?!"

He squealed and jumped around quickly to see nothing. But there was something there, but it wasn't a mech.

"WHAT THE HELL? WHO'S THERE?"

To hell with any dignity and soldier's grit he may have held. Maybe a new 'Con weapon was here afterall.

Nothing.

"To pit with this!"

He shuddered with some ounce of fear and began walking backwards.

"Sideswipe".

A small whisper from behind.

He jumped around and saw standing… no floating… about three metres in front of him about a metre from the ground a cloud of mist.

"Oh hell no! To the smelting pit with this!"

The solider then did something he never thought he'd do, he turned and ran.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's NB: **My apologies, during the spell checker my stupid computer decided to throw a clot and stalled so the spell checker didn't finish the job, and when I restarted it, it started at an odd place and had A-OKed several misspelt words and I'm too dyslexic to figure out where those places are. Good luck.

--

**Chapter 6**

15th December, 2005

"Sideswipe, where are you going?"

"Ah…"

The red twin found himself facing one of the new to earth officers. An Autobot whose name he couldn't recall but he remembered this one as being stern and a good friend of Magnus – so he was just as strict.

"You're supposed to be patrolling Solias, aren't you?"

"Ah… yes sir".

"Then why aren't you in the Solias area? If my data banks serve me well then this is Latus section".

"Ah… um… I guess I just forgot, you know, this place is always changing, always being upgraded".

"Yes, I guess you did. Now get back to your post and report any strange going ons".

The senior Autobot turned and began walking away.

"What would you class as "strange going ons"? Sir?"

The officer stopped and began to turn back to face the Twin who had just spoken up.

"What the pit do you think I mean? Anything involving the Decepticons, criminals, people who aren't supposed to be in this area, any mischievous human younglings getting up to shenanigans! That's what I mean! Now get your aft plates back to patrol or so help me Primus I'll have you rusting in the brig by dawn! Optimus Prime and his co-horts may have put up with your slag, but I'm not going to, not by a long shot. The times have changed, and if we want to win this war we have to do it with strict discipline and obedience in the chain of command!"

The large black and blue mech literally screamed.

"Ah… yes sir, sorry sir…."

Sideswipe was still a little freaked from what he had just witnessed so he really didn't have much in the way of gusto to respond in any more amusing way.

He didn't dare return to the location where he'd had the run in with that… that… mist.

The warrior found himself contemplating the thing he'd seen. In all his solar cycles, he'd come to see and witness things that science and reason couldn't explain. Once Ratchet had reported seeing "something" in his repair bay after a horrid battle resulting in a great many Autobot deaths. Perceptor, in his esoteric self explained in no un-certain terms that anything Ratchet had witnessed was simply a figment of his CPU created to help deal with the wanton destruction he'd witnessed. Yeah, that was probably what it was… maybe? He was probably just run down, stressed, tired, in need of a vacation, his CPU was just playing tricks on him.

The senior officer could see the warrior was mulling over something and narrowed his optics with impatience.

"I don't have cycles to waste while you contemplate, solider, get back to your post, NOW!"

The officer gave a parting glare before turning and walking off into the darkness.

The red twin looked a little embarrassed, but was somewhat assured that this new to earth Bot wouldn't go telling everyone and their mechanical dog that Sideswipe was shirking his responsibility in some form. He scanned the area of his patrol radius and deciding there was nothing else there he began to search for a place where he could do his job without getting in trouble but without running into that thing again. After a few minutes he found a newer looking structure, he slumped against it and slid down into a sitting position and spent the rest of his shift staring at the bare branches of a tree that was sheltered from the snow by one of the larger fences, its twigs scrapping against the decommissioned guard tower.

--

The red twin was walking back to his quarters when he passed Chip in the hall.

"Hey, kid".

"Hey Sides, how's it all going?"

"Good, good… how 'bout you?"

"Oh, can't complain. It's been pretty quiet around here lately, but Percy is keeping me busy".

"Primus, I bet he is".

The twin chuckled, knowing fore well what the scientist was capable of dolling out – even to those he considered friends. The microscope didn't see scrubbing beakers as a punishment, and so gave it out to people thinking he was doing them a "favour".

"So, how's Sunstreaker? I haven't seen him around lately".

"Oh, you know he's keeping on; he found himself a new brand of wax that's he's been really excited about, so spends most of his spare time trying different buffing techniques".

"Hah, that sounds like him. Well, I best be off, gotta get back to the lab with these tech specs, Percy is working on something and he's at the stage where he's not telling anyone about it".

"Oh yeah, well, you have a good day..."

The red twin commented.

"You sure you're okay, Sides?"

The human may have been unable to walk but he made up for his deficenticies via way of noticing personality traits and quirks and concerns.

"Look, Chip, can I ask you something? I mean, it's going to sound crazy, but I need to just nutter this out to someone".

"Hey, sure, Sideswipe, you ask what you need to; I'm always here to listen for you if you need it".

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Wow. That was random".

"You don't have to make fun of me, seesh, I know you're smarter then the rest of us lowly mechs, but Primus, Chip, I was asking a serious question and if you're not going to take me seriously then I'll take my queries elsewhere!"

"Hey, hey, Sides, relax, I was just not expecting such a question. But I'm more then happy to talk to you about this".

"Oh… sorry. Well?"

"I believe there are things in existence that science can't explain – just don't Perce I said that. I've seen things, things that can't be explained and can't be rationalised and for lack of a better term, could only be labelled "ghosts". And I know that Sparkplug saw things during his service in the forces that he can't explain either and he was more then happy to claim they were ghosts or something of a paranormal nature. Shame he's dead now, he would have been happy to talk to you about them. But maybe when Spike gets back he could chat with you about it… I know Sparkplug told Spike about some of the creepier stuff he'd seen. Why do you ask? Seems kind of a strange thing to ask me… well, anyone".

"I've seen some stuff lately, Chip, spooky slag that I can't put a name to. I just wanna know if someone is pranking me or if its… well… you know".

"Sides, just tell me to shut up if you want, or ignore me or whatever, but maybe you should go talk to First Aid".

"What? He sees ghosts too?"

"No… well, I don't know, but I more suggesting along the lines of some form of counselling. You guys have seen some real horrors in the past through months. I saw the shells of Prowl, Ratchet and the others. Its some pretty heavy stuff to see the shells of anyone, even if you didn't get on with them. But you and Ratchet had history, maybe not a good history or a friendly history or whatever but you had history. Now, you and your brother keep the same room in the same corridor which also had the same rooms as a lot of other Autobots who died. I think you need to talk some stuff out. Then maybe the ghosts will leave you be".

"You reckon it could be that?"

"There's no shame in admitting you need psychological or emotional help. And First Aid is very professional, no one would find out about it you did go chat with him".

"Well, do you get psycho help when you need it?"

"Absolutely. Percy may be really esoteric, but he's a good one to chat with, especially for me. Prowl was one of my best friends, so was Ratchet, they're dead, I can't ignore that, I had to deal with it or it'll just sit inside me, getting bottled up until it explodes. I've been there, Sides, its not great to let things like this get on top of you. There's no shame, Sides, none what so ever, go talk to First Aid, or anyone, find someone you can trust with this sort of emotional baggage".

"Yeah. I guess my concern is that Sunny will think I'm weak or a pansy or something".

"I'm sure if you chatted with him let him know what you're thinking he wouldn't think that. You guys are twins, twins have a special bond, if that bond doesn't help him understand your pain or whatever you're going through, well, then, well, I don't know what to say. But chances are he's grieving just like you".

"But what if it isn't emotional, what if I really am seeing these things because they're really there".

"Optimus used to say, neither impossible nor impossible, with the amount of death that took place here a few months back, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if something, some kind of energy, a ghost if you will, still inhabited this place".

"How can I get rid of them… these ghosts?"

"Depends. If they were Autobot "ghosts" then perhaps whatever the faith of Primus teaches about removing such forces teaches, you could try that. If that fails, a good friend of mine who I went to school with is a Catholic priest, and those guys are the best chance of getting rid of anything "supernaturally" unpleasant".

"You must think I'm nuts".

"Nah, Sides, I don't, I just think you have a lot of issues and some of them are coming to the surface. Talk to Aid or someone first, and if that doesn't help alleviate your… hauntings… then look at the spiritual side of things. Science can't really help with this at its current state".

"Thanks, Chip, well, I best let you go, Primus only knows what Perceptor thinks you're getting into by being late".

"Hah, yeah, okay! You have a good day, okay, and don't' worry too much Sides".

--

"Hey, Perce, sorry I'm late, I got caught up".

"Oh! But of course, Chip. You have naught reason for overt anxiety".

"Here's your specs".

The scientist crouched down and took the digi pad.

"Hey, Perce, can I ask you something?"

"Certainly".

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

The scientist turned to face the human, his mouth slightly agape and for once in his life, speechless.

"Did you hear me okay, Perce?"

The scientist's right optic ridge rose slightly.

"I accept the probability of energy sources existing outside the realm of known science. If individuals wish to apply the semantic of "ghost" to such an energy source, then so be it. But do I accept the possibility of an energy source created by the demise or of a mech going offline and their spark continuing in this plane of existence, well, to be candid, I'm not sure. I haven't done extensive enough research on the matter, and do not view it as a necessary use of very limited resources".

"Fair enough".

"Why do you ask?"

"Someone balled me up in the corridor and said they thought they were being haunted… or that they were going crazy".

"I would staunchly propose psychological intervention for that individual".

Chip smiled and then wheeled himself over to a platform that would raise his chair to the computer's keyboard. The scientist was perplexed by who would the haunted mech be, but shrugged it off as he knew there was more important work to consider.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

December 16th

Sunstreaker rubbed his left optic with the back of his hand as he punched a few digits on the security panel. He noticed Perceptor walking with Sky Fire having what looked to be an esoteric conversation and something he wanted nothing to do with. He quickly ducked through the doors and stood in corridor that led to his living quarters. As usual, the hallway was completely black, since it was only the twins who kept their rooms here. Magnus had made some comment in a meeting once about how much of a waste it was, and that mechs had to move on, this was a war, there was losses, and empty rooms couldn't stay empty for long. Well, that's what Jazz had told him, since neither of the twins had been at the meeting.

He was about ten metres from the doors when he was aware of someone behind him. He turned quickly, aiming his rifle at the new comer, thinking it was one of the Scientists who might have followed for some reason – hah, he'd freak those geek bots out something fierce. The corridor was empty. He shrugged and subspaced his rifle, turned and headed towards his quarters. He was aware again of a presence, looking over his shoulder, he saw no one there. He really needed to get his sensors looked at. Footsteps suddenly echoed behind him.

"Alright Mirage, you prick, stop Slaggin about!"

Wait… was Mirage still alive? He hadn't seen him in some months, not since the attack, he'd heard word that he'd been shot by Megatron but had he been repaired? Regardless, the twin wasn't sure, but what he was sure of was someone standing in front of him, someone now walking towards him. The footsteps were so obvious in sound, pace and pitch that they could be nothing else _but _footsteps. The steps stopped in front of him and so close was whoever, that the twin could feel the warm oral exhaust, or "breath" to use a human word. It stunk like… well… rust. It was the most horrid, foulest odour he'd smelt in his entire existence. The thousands of rusting shells on used battle fields came close but not close enough. A cold chill passed over his frame. He took a step back.

"SLAG OFF!"

He swung his fist around and passed through the area where Mirage, if it was Mirage, would be standing. The force of his movement, the fact there was nothing to connect too caused him to loose balance, his legs twisted under him and he spun slightly to his left and then crashed to the ground. He looked up.

"What…?"

Mirage never had that ability.

Hound, well, Hound could make a hologram but holograms couldn't breath.

Even Nightbird didn't have that skill.

Was being there and yet not being there even a skill that a mech or femme could possess?

Maybe a new Decepticon weapon? But they were so poor for troops and fuel that whatever leadership remained in place was not in any position to A-OK research for something that energon exhausting.

What if it was some human weapon? Those creatures, while so inferior to him and his ilk, could come up with some doses if need be. He was certainly no fan of a species that continually shed its skin on his upholstery but they could be quite clever in the weapons game. Savages.

He was about to start contemplating upon the possibility of another species when he felt himself lifted from the ground and suddenly being thrown back. He roared in absolute surprise, the lights in the hall flicked on and off quickly and then he collided with the wall at the end of the passageway. He was knocked into statis.

--

"Bro? BRO? Wake up bro".

He was aware of his brother's voice.

His optics came online and opened.

Sideswipe and First Aid were standing on opposite sides.

Perceptor stood at the foot of the berth looking over a digipad and obviously intrigued with the information contained therein.

"Sunstreaker, can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear your whinny cuddy prissy little lovely voice, First Aid".

He growled, he was rather sore and none to impressed that some new weapon of some description had gotten the best of him.

"Oh… um… good… I'll just go over here… and get… something".

The young doctor, obviously put out by the sudden tirade pulled back and towards one of the benches that sat against the wall.

"It is distinguishable from scans implemented on your CPU, Sunstreaker that have alarmed us to several deviations concurring with a state of oversensitivity. A simple recalibration of which, should resolve this significantly".

"Whah?"

The golden twin asked, raising an optic ridge.

"Don't look at me".

Sideswipe shrugged.

"He's saying scans of your CPU show your sensors are running at a higher level then they should be".

"Oh, well, that explains everything, when can you fix it?"

"What?"

Sideswipe asked, looking at his brother. The scientist raising an optic ridge and First Aid returning from the bench. The three mechs looked at him.

"What explains everything?"

First Aid inquired, raising the pitch of his voice to relay a rather concerned suspicion.

Sunstreaker looked at them like they were losing their marbles.

"Wheeljack, can you explain to these guys what you just said to me?"

Perceptor took a step back, the look on his face plates a look he'd never used, a look no one had ever seen. It was one of complete and utter astonishment with a hint of uncertainty.

"Bro…"

"What?"

"You… you feeling okay? Your memory banks okay".

"What the pit are you talking about, Sides?"

"Sunstreaker, Wheeljack went offline several months ago at the great battle".

It was probably the least esoteric statement Perceptor had ever uttered.

Sunstreaker looked at them, his optics flickered offline for the briefest of cycles.

"No… that can't be right, he's right here, look… see!"

The vainer of the twins pointed to an empty space of the repair bay.

"Wheeljack! Say something, you crazy bastard!"

"Bro, Wheeljack's not here, he's dead, he's in the crypt".

Sideswipe's voice was quiet, sad, subdued and soaked with concern for his brother's mental state.

"Sideswipe, why are you saying these things? You're my bro, why the slag aren't you backing me up…

The red brother took a step back, guilt riddling his face.

"Its alright, Sunstreaker, no one is out to get you, we just want to help you".

First Aid said softly.

"YOU'RE SO FULL OF SLAG!"

Sunstreaker jumped up into a crouching position on the berth and reached down and grabbed the young doctor, throwing him towards the maroon scientist who was unable to move fast enough to escape the mech projectile, both crumpled to the floor, rolling and skidding with the memento.

"Sunstreaker! What are you doing?"

Sideswipe cried out, his brother turning to face him.

"You're as guilty as they are! You're in this with them, aren't you? You were always jealous of me, you were always annoyed that I was the better looking protoform, the toughest, the bravest, you're just a weak little coward, no, no, not just weak and cowardly, but _ugly_. Ugly to your spark!!"

The angered twin jumped down and started running at the door, jumping easily over the two splayed mechs who were attempting to get up. The twin gave Perceptor a good swift kick to the cranium casing and was then out through the doors.

"SUNSTREAKER!!"

Sideswipe ran after his twin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

17th December

Chronometres had just clicked passed zero hundred hours. Sunstreaker had been missing for at least 15 hours and his brother was livid with what he was claiming was the ineptitude of those around him to locate and treat his twin. He was rather annoyed at the young medic who he blamed for not picking up this issue sooner.

The red twin had chased after his brother who tore a conduit through unsuspecting Autobots. He refused to listen to reason and actually turned and threw Wheelie at the ceiling above his twin; the force of the minibot hitting the support beam caused it to fracture and brought down several large panels. The little rhyming snot was still online, and Sunstreaker hadn't killed anyone, but the senior officers were, the red twin knew, discussing "extreme" measures to put a stop to the warrior.

Of course, with all that was said and done, whether to his face or behind closed doors, Sunstreaker was still on the run and hadn't been seen since midday.

In the days of Optimus any wayward Autobot, no matter how mentally damaged or how far they were questioning their loyalty to the cause, Prime would seek them out with intent to help them, and none of that help meant a blast through the CPU. Red Alert had surely proven Optimus' patience in regards to that. But Rodimus was not in full control, there were powers behind them were pulling strings and nudging him towards certain decisions. The twin oftentimes wondered if Optimus ever imagined that when he gave the prophecy of an Autobot rising from the ranks that said schleb would end up a mere puppet of stronger forces.

Sideswipe turned a sharp corner almost causing two humans to slam their vehicles into the side of a bus. The twin was less then concerned and continued at speed down the main street of the human city. There were a series of car washes and upgrade centres ear by that vainer of the two was prone to visiting. Sunstreaker sure as the pit was hot didn't think too highly of humans but he did appreciate some of their finer tastes concerning "pimping" their rides. The warrior hoped his brother would be there. That he could find him. And that he could talk him into returning to the city for the meds to run a full systems check and try and repair whatever damage was afflicting his CPU.

--

Once First Aid had assured the red twin that his expertise was best placed in the repair bay then out scouring the streets looking for Sunstreaker, he was able to get back to sorting out the problem might be. He had mountains of digipads with case studies and systems manuals with the troubleshooting sections open, there was also the multiple scans of the vainer twin lying about the table. It certainly was a difficult situation. It was times like this that he half expected his mentor to come barging in swearing and cursing and threatening and waving his arms around and then sorting everything out.

A machine behind him beeped, the young medic turned and approached it, removing his cup of hot oil broth from the dispenser. He took a sip, enjoying the thickly solution and the pleasant taste. Spike had once asked if they got bored drinking the same fuel, without any variation. What the young human didn't seem to realise was that different fuels and energon had different tastes. Something created from fossil fuels, as the humans termed them, had had a really rich, "gamey" taste, it was a nicely pungent aroma with a strong hearty texture and was particularly rich, providing satisfaction, a feeling of fullness and was definitely a "comfort fuel". Energon from a solar energy source was a lot lighter and fresher, it seemed to make you feel that everything was right with your servos and it was certainly much better for you. Hydro power provided an energon type that was good as a palate cleanser. Then there was coal produced energon, which was disgusting, no matter how many times it was refined or how many additives were merged with it, it still had a gritty, dirty taste, it was gluggy with an overpowering sickening sensation as it passed down the fuel line to the tank. It was also had a corrupting influence on the systems, it would deposit those tiny gritty pieces along the fuel lines and in the major structures and circuitry. The process could be likened to arteriosclerosis in humans. It was like McD's for machines.

The young medic placed his mug down on the table and decided to go look through the medical journals Perceptor had on file, maybe something in there could give him some ideas as to the twin. He turned and walked towards the door when suddenly a loud thud rung out. He spun around and found his mug on the floor, the warm oil spreading out from it. He sighed and walked back over to it; grabbing a rag he knelt down and began to clean it up. Strange, he thought, he'd made sure the mug was well away from the edge to avoid just this possibility.

After wiping it up, he picked up the mug and went to the sink, it was while he was standing there rinsing the mug clean that a loud series of thumps rung out. His fuel pumped stopped momentarily with the shock before it began racing, he turned back around and saw the digipads on the table falling onto the floor. What frightened him more then anything, was that one at the time they were slowly scraping along the desk, their edges scratching so loudly the screech they made was offensive to his audios, slowly, one at a time, they slid from their position and onto the floor.

"Who… who's there…. I'll… I'll… I'll…."

Suddenly, one of the digipads slammed into the wall next to his head. Then another came flying at him, he managed to duck from its trajectory and the piece of metal smacked into the oil dispenser, knocking the on switch, causing the hot oil to pour out.

The young doctor decided against taking his chances with whatever was causing this and rushed out the door into the corridor.

First Aid stood staring at the door to his repair bay; he took a step back until his shoulder struts were touching the opposite hall.

"What… what the pit was that?"

He stammered to himself.

"Maybe I just need some time to recharge, yeah, that's it, a recharge cycle… heh, yeah, just working to hard".

The medic turned and hurried off towards his quarters and a hopefully uninterrupted sleep.

--

It was close to 2300 hours. First Aid stood outside his repair bay. He had to go in there, a small number of Cons who were still on earth, or who had been rumoured to be on earth, had just attacked a small unmanned oil rig off shore of a human town. When the Autobots had shown up, the Decepticons panicked and caused a massive explosion, causing a Tsunami to strike the town, and several Autobots had been damaged in the fire ball, they were on route now.

"You can do this, Aid".

He said to himself as he opened the door and walked into the medbay.

The digipads that had been chucked at him were sitting on the floor under the dispenser. The oil that had spilled out had dried into a sticky mess but at least it'd stopped. The digipads and other materials on his table were all over the floor as well. He began picking up the digipads and placing them in a box on the shelf. There was an odd feeling in the room. Like someone was watching him… or something… He had a job to do; he just had to get on with it. If someone was here, well, then so be it, but injured Autobots would be here soon, they needed a doctor who had his CPU in it, not thinking about invisible assassins or boogie men.

"First Aid, come in First Aid".

A voice came over the com.

"This is First Aid".

"Its Springer here, we've got a few good injuries, Kup lost a leg and Wheelie's received a bad knock to his CPU. We're about twenty clicks away, ETA 5 minutes".

"Read you, Springer, I'll have things ready. First Aid, out".

The young doctor sighed, giving momentary thought to the horror and complete and utter uselessness of war and then turned to head to the supply room to gather what he'd need for a traumatic amputation and a CPU injury.

Inside the supply room was any medical implement he could imagine. Since the great battle only a few months prior the Autobot higher ups were a little more inclined to be generous with resources, and even before, Ultra Magnus had been on the mindset that to have a good army, capable of winning the war, one needed fully functional soldiers, so Magnus in his previous command before arrival on earth, had been very giving with resources to his medical teams. Of course, from was First Aid knew, the medical team under Magnus' command was sparsely educated and was made up of a maintenance drone and two femmes who'd been learning "nursing" before the war. One of the femmes was… as the saying went, a few circuits short of a mother board and was all over the place, since her arrival on earth she'd been relegated to a job that involved very little action and NO medical intervention. The other femme, her CPU still functioning at a decent level, had found a more suited role in being Magnus' secretary.

His sensors suddenly spiked, someone was in the room with him.

"Springer?"

He asked, knowing even before he spoke that it was not Springer.

The medic turned to face where his sensors indicated the new comer was standing and instead found himself facing not Springer, and certainly not any other functioning Autobot, but a mist of white and red floating before him.

The young doctor gasped and staggered back, bumping into the shelf behind him, a few of the instruments giggling slightly as they rolled from their position.

The mist at first was just that, a cold, swirling, floating mass of white with hints of red, but slowly it took a more recognisable form.

Ratchet.

"EEEEEEEE!"

First Aid squealed like a little femme and ran from the supply room, out of the repair bay and smack bang into Rodimus who was in a rush to get there before the injured.

"First Aid! What the hell are you doing? Get your aft back in there and prepare for the injured! Seesh, I shouldn't have to tell you that! Primus!"

"Rodimus… Rodimus I saw Ratchet, he was in there, standing right behind me! I swear to the Allspark!"

"Ratchet? You saw Ratchet? I thought he was offline".

"He is offline! I saw… I saw a ghost!"

"Look, doc, I don't know what you've heard about me, but two things, one, I don't have time for shenanigans when there are injured Autobots on the way and two, yes it is true, I am _that _big".

"But… but…"

"Oh for the sake of Victor Sigma, come on, I'll prove the damn repair bay ain't haunted".

The new leader marched into the empty repair bay.

"See. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Nought. Now get to work, I'll stay and assist, cos this place is looking a bit scruffy".

First Aid shuddered slightly, but could see there was no longer any "ghost" or anything but physical mess in his repair bay.

An alarm began to blast.

"WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?"

The unsettled doctor squealed.

"I believe that is your alarm that blasts when injured Autobots have arrived at the city. Now get your slag together, Aid, I have no use for doctors with a complex".


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's NB: **Whoops, with all the excitement of horrid shift work, education days and sorting out my damn portfolio and CV I've hardly had a moment to write more of this.

My original intention with this story was to be one of humour and a good belly LOL, sort of ghost buster's type humour, but it ended up taking a more serious and darker note, though I've decided I want to attempt to combine the two styles and hopefully put a few more chuckles through the scariness. OoooooOOOOooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooh.

--

**Chapter 9**

18th December

The scratchy trees brushed against the dilapidated port building. Maybe it once housed freighters during maintenance or construction, perhaps it held stocks and other merchandise, it could even have been an offline marine organism reverse engineering processing facility – what was it Spike had called it, oh yeah, a fish finger factory. Odd, given from his understanding of marine biological functions, those things didn't have fingers.

The ostentatious twin sat parked there, his very presence a direct antithesis to the, well, shitty building. It amazed him that these organics would build these places, run them into the ground or until they ran out of currency to continue their function, and instead of trying to sell the land or building, these places just stood there, rotting. A dark and structurally dangerous testament to the wastefulness of the earthen flesh creatures.

His internal chronometer told him it was 2142 hours, by human description. He'd spent a good number of hours just parked there. He managed a peaceful recharge for the first five hours of his arrival, but after his dreams became interspersed with horrors from the battles he'd fought, and more recently, the great battle of Autobot City. Was he really just defective in the CPU? Was something mechanically wrong with his systems? Was that why was so edge? Why his optics were telling him things were there that weren't? It couldn't be, could it? Sunstreaker had always been in tune with his form, every nook and cranny, every strut, every rivet, ever spec of oil used to lubricate joints – everything was perfect, nothing was ever given over to chance when it came to his maintenance and his grooming. He'd know if something was wrong with his CPU, he'd know if his optics really were tricking him into believing what stood before him. But if he was perfect, if what he saw and how he processed it was not at fault, the only conclusion that led to was that he was seeing "ghosts" and that those "ghosts" were real.

But that was slag. There had to be another more rational and less frightening explanation, he just hadn't stumbled upon it yet.

He again contemplated starting his engine and returning to base, to receive both an audio lashing and a full going over by First Aid and his pack of nerd bots. Perceptor was worse. Primus, he couldn't stand that mech. He was so full of himself. He liked to push out this image of him being awkward socially, thanks to his high IQ and knowledge. But really, he was just a lowly coward who had a decent thesaurus and liked to make himself feel better about how he had no social life by giving others this impression of his intellectual superiority – which always unsettled most. Perceptor would speak in words most would have never heard of not because he was manufactured like that, but because, deep down, he knew it made others feel small.

Sunstreaker gruffed to himself and again contemplated returning or at the very least finding some other place to hid… no… he wasn't hiding, he was… slag it, he didn't have to justify himself to anyone, and certainly not that punk arse Rodimus or any of his oversized proto-sitters. He had shed more energon and oil for the Autobot cause then almost anyone. He'd done the jobs no one wanted, the horrible things that war churned out, he and his brother had shouldered the burden of aborted morality, they were shunned by their peers, albeit not so publically. The distain of their peers was more passive aggressive, things such as not inviting them to recreational events, having only the most minimal of conversations, fleeting and shrugged aside, and always the aft of most jokes in circulation.

Slag them all.

If it wasn't for his brother and him, there'd be a lot of battles that would go to the Cons. Assassinations of Decepticon officers, planting of bombs, theft of intelligence and then the general and complete utter energon shed upon the battlefield. These horrible shenanigans were needed to win the war, the Brass knew that, they'd never acknowledge it, nor publically condone it, but behind closed doors it was uttered in hushed vocal processors.

So yeah, to the Pit with all of them, he'd sit here until he was good and ready to return.

--

His sensors alerted him to the approach of organic life forms. Humans. Four of them. One was carrying a crow bar and two others were hauling another, obviously against his will towards the old offline marin… fish finger factory. They stopped in front of the back loading doors, not having noticed the yellow lambo sitting in the darkness. The two threw the other down to the ground and one proceeded to give him a good solid kick to the guts. The crow bar wielding one began to speak, Sunstreaker, not one to eavesdrop, had nothing else to do and so listened in. It wasn't like he could just start his engine, excuse himself and then drive off without so much as a friendly wave goodbye. Plus, nothing worse then watching a silent movie.

The men said nothing for a few moments, just watching the man at crow bar man's feet beg for his life. It was pathetic, but Sunstreaker couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for the poor bastard. Probably owed them currency or something, flesh creatures and their pieces of paper. Then crowbar man smacked ground guy across the back with the metal tool. The other two got to kicking ground guy.

Ground guy was screaming about how he was sorry, how he was drunk, how he didn't mean to, how he'd do anything to change how things went. Sunstreaker's pity for this bugger ended when crow bar man yelled that ground guy had raped crow bar man's sister. And that ended any hope Sunstreaker believed ground guy had of getting out of their with functionally lower appendages.

The three then proceeded to beat ground guy within an inch of his life before departing in a bloodied hurry. Sunstreaker turned on his lights and drove over to the pummelled blob. They were so easy to damage, he thought, and they sure as hell didn't look good when they were.

The guy had probably suffered enough and it'd be cruel to leave him here to die, even human criminals were dispatched with what they perceived as a painless exit – if only the humans new their "humane" lethal injection actually caused the criminal a great deal of silent suffering – of course some would like that. So, internally, the Autobot twin contacted the human emergency services, gave them the low down and then drove away, leaving the man's fate to his biological processes. If he died before assistance arrived, well, it wasn't the Autobot's fault, he wasn't a medic and he sure as the pit was hot didn't know how to maintenance those little blobs of muck.

--

The golden twin was speeding down the motorway towards Autobot City, he was a good hour away and spent the time concentrating more on the driving conditions and the irritating inability of flesh creatures to be unable to control their vehicles correctly, having passed several accidents. The light of the highest tower of Autobot came into view. It was clearly visible for at least a hundred kilometres, well for those little chunks of jelly humans called eyes.

He decreased his speed to enable a smooth transition onto the off ramp when he noticed a white van with red lines and markings driving behind him. At first he thought it was First Aide as the Autobot insignia was too much of a coincidence to be a human ambulance or other modified vehicle. But there was something familiar about the vehicle. The multiple dents and scruffy paint job, the fracture in the left window and the small cracks running through the lights atop. First Aide was young, he was a medic, he wasn't vain, but he sure as slag wasn't a slob and he didn't get too deep into battle to end up with such kinks. There was no mistaking it.

It was Ratchet.

Sunstreaker, unsure what was happening, decided the best bet was to out run the eerie object and get back to the City. What horrified him more then the fact he was probably seeing a ghost, was that Ratchet seemed to be matching his speed. That was impossible. Ratchet was a clapped out hunk of junk who spent more time on the battle field or in the repair bay throwing wrenches and swearing profusely to worry about 'suping up his engine to increase speed. What also creeped the twin out was that his sensors were not registering any Autobot, or even any other vehicle following him at speed so closely.

Ratchet ghost revved and came very close up behind the twin and bumped into his back bumper. There was an incredibly forceful jut forward and Sunstreaker veered slightly, somewhat horrified that his stabilises could be so easily interfered with while he was in motion. The very physically real apparition came in for round two and this time gave the twin such a large and forceful whack that the twin lost all control and started careening from the road towards the bushes on the verge. He accessed all his emergency protocols in an attempt to slow himself, in an attempt to stabilise and break, but those systems were now mysteriously offline, his last attempt to free himself from what was going to be a heck of a prang with nature was to transform, but found his circuits to initiate such had shorted.

He bounced off the road and began an uncontrolled tumble on his wheels through the heavy undergrowth, the sharp branches scratching into paint job and destroying his clean, well chromed finish. The mud flicked up and splattered upon his underside and along finish. He then slammed into the large tree that didn't yield to the force of the Autobot striking. Sunstreaker groaned and the last image he had etched in his CPU before he entered statis was the van sitting at the top of the path he'd ventured down before striking one of nature's forces.

--


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's NB: **Please excuse me, I don't know American geography or metrological patterns so I am relying on Google to tell me if it snows or rains or what in Oregon, which is where a few sources in the official cannon say the Ark is located. I know there are other regions where the Autobots are said to reside, but for this story I'm just shoving them in Oregon. SO hopefully Wiki and Google aren't lying to me when they say it rains there in December. (I can tell you, its bloody hot in December where I live).

**Chapter Ten**

**19****th**** December**

At sometime during the night it had begun to rain. It had occasionally drizzled the day previous but it was really pouring now. It was a cold rain, the type that soaked human coverings and chilled them to their bones. And it certainly was no picnic on Yn'szq, which in the human tongue of English roughly translated into "Place of many funs". He and his bro used to joke it was the place of many femmes, which was certainly true. And like all femmes, the ones on that world loved him too, and couldn't get enough of him. But back to the rain. It was cold and it seeped through the tiny gaps in his armour that allowed movement, and cooled his inners. That was the problem they'd encountered on this mud ball, Cybertron and many other worlds they'd been on did not have a concept of "rain", or even "weather", it was usually just the same, day in, day out. All year round. It was either really hot, or really cold and their systems adjusted to the one temperature accordingly. But here it fluctuated so much it was difficult to be truly comfortable.

Damned planet.

If Megatron was any kind of war monger he would have wiped this spec from the windshield of the universe along time ago.

Focussing on the freezing water, that horrid rain, allowed him to take his CPU off the registry of pain that was ripping along every strut, every linkage cable, every wire that ran from the mess wrapped around the tree that was once his front chassis. He was sure even his paint job hurt. Stupid Ratchet. He'd get back at that surly son of a retro rat… oh wait, Ratchet was dead.

And there in lay the huge problem.

He contemplated on his possible insanity as the fleshies called it as he drifted into another bout of stasis.

--

While his chassis was essentially repaired, and by that he meant it was hammered back into shape and the internal injuries were repaired; the awful gorges in the metal, the scraped chrome and the flaking paintjob were about as subtle as the stench on Junkion. Then there was the mud. Dear Primus he was covered in mud!! It'd take months to get back to his pristine and well groomed self. He lamented that as he took in his surrounds.

He was in a small room, enclosed, with no windows or doors. The walls were coated in a polymer that was rather soft and very sturdy.

Great.

He was in a padded cell.

"HEY! Someone wanna tell me what the HELL I'M DOING IN THIS SLAGGIN' CELL?!!!"

He banged on the wall; it was spongy and easily absorbed the force of his blows, without giving him discomfort or damaging its structural integrity.

After a good couple of minutes he realised he wasn't getting any attention he slumped back down and groaned. He started flicking the chunks of dirt and grass from his ankle joints. What a mess. It was going to take months to get sorted… didn't he have this thought already? He sighed; regardless it was something that he needed to do and something that would nag him until he did. The temperature in the cell suddenly dropped and he felt the prickle of the decrease along his metallic skin. Wondering if there was something flawed with the internal temperature gauge in the cell, or maybe First Aid missed something while putting him back together. Given the job he did ignoring his finish, the twin wouldn't be surprised if he was incompetent to miss a few more vital components. And his finish was very vital. Ratchet never seemed to think so, and nor did First Aid it would appear. Holistic care, the fleshy blobs they were stuck defending called it. The temperature continued downwards and then he heard a whisper.

At first he wasn't sure if it was a whisper, or perhaps it was just a gust of wind blowing in through a gap somewhere in the cell. His second thought was that it was probably his imagination. The third thought, well, the third thought was that it was nothing.

He shut his optics offline and decided to try and get some recharge; Primus knew he'd initiated such in worse circumstances. The sound infiltrated his attempt though. It was definitely not his imagination. It was most definitely not nothing. And the sound was so well formed this time he was able to identify it as language. Words.

"Spaghetti bolognaises".

The words were whispered with a hushed voice, it was gruff, it was firm, it had a hint of amused anger. It was whispered again, this time a little louder. Sunstreaker did something he had never done in his entire life cycle, and did something he thought he'd never do. He screamed. His optics flashed back online, he jumped up to his feet rushed the wall, still screaming, and starting pounding on the padded wall.

"LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!!!!"

On the other side of a well hidden camera's lens, the medic stood there with the two senior officers.

"Well, that was unexpected".

Rodimus grumbled.

"Indeed".

Came the firm, unimpressed response of the city commander.

"First Aid, keep this one here, and run a full diagnostic on his brother".

Magnus added as he walked out, obviously not possessing the time to bother too much more about this comparatively small incident.

"What you think's wrong with him? I mean, bots don't just flip their lids".

Rodimus asked the young doctor.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. But my guess, its probably some kind of post traumatic stress disorder, he's recently reported difficulty recharging and I've heard on the grape vine that he's been hallucinating things. Not to mention all the other events that have transpired around him lately – it suggests either PTSD or the spitting of his CPU's personality components into another entity".

"What? His CPU is spitting? What the pit does that mean?"

"The humans call it schizophrenia. It's a multiple personality disorder. He has symptoms that match it almost perfectly, its incredibly rare though, I've only read of cases, never actually seen any. Perceptor may have, though".

"Well, you go have yourself a little chin wag with Percy and see if he can… what's he saying now?"

Rodimus asked as he increased the volume on the microphone that was picking up Sunstreaker's ramblings.

"It sounds like he's saying… spaghetti bolognaise… what in the name of Vector Sigma is that?"

The doctor asked.

"It only happens to be Danno's favourite chow! Its some kind of human fuel. Why would Sunny be screaming about a human fuel, I thought he hated them?"

"Again, its just more indication that his CPU is spitting into multiple personalities. I'm going straight to Perceptor right now".

First Aid turned and started rushing out of the room. The new and rather inexperienced leader found himself alone in the chamber, looking up at the screens, each giving a different view of the maddening Autobot.

"Man, Optimus, I could really have used your assist on this one, I bet your troops never lost their marbles while you were in charge".

He sighed, somewhat depressed and he headed out to his other more pressing duties. The screams of Spaghetti bolognaise still ringing through the speaker and reaching his audios as the doors shut behind him.

--

Sideswipe lent back against the wall in his "room". Of course, that's not what the security director Kup had called it. At least Prowl was honest about their punishment, he didn't mince words or piss about trying to reassure them they could go whenever they wanted, but it was best he stayed just for the time being until this mess was sorted out. Prowl was a mech of few words and this Kup could rant and ramble on for hours about stories that the red twin neither cared about nor wanted to know. Sideswipe wondered if this Kup was the same Kup he'd heard was a tutor at the Autobot training school he'd attended soon after he came online. He'd never met the mech, but he had heard stories about this certain old codger who'd go off on tangents.

Sideswipe looked up at where he knew the camera was situated; he'd been in enough "rooms" to know when and where there was surveillance. When it was Prowl who was on the other end of the camera he'd make a few lewd gestures, but he just wasn't in the mood to do anything now. He leant back and stretched his arms and legs, wriggling his fingers as he groaned impatiently.

Spaghetti bolognaise.

He was damn sure that's what he just heard.

The words were whispered with a gruff voice and they floated along a freezing breath. It seemed to branch out and cool the entire room.

Nah, just his imagination.

Spaghetti bolognaise.

No. He did just hear that. No way. NO WAY!

He was up on his feet quickly and spun around to where he thought the whisper had come from. He almost jumped out of his shell when the whisper was uttered from behind him, it had moved right around him. He spun around to face the location, and saw nothing, but felt cold, felt as if he was being watched and it wasn't because of the camera.

Spaghetti bolognaise.

"What…"

Spaghetti bolognaise.

"Oh Pit No!"

Sideswipe shrugged off any preconceived notion of dignity and self control and started banging on the door yelling to be let out… as the chilling whisper continued he stopped yelling and started screaming.

"Did he just say Spaghetti bolognaise?"

Jazz turned and looked at Blaster, the two on the other side of the camera.

"Sounds like it, man".

"Outa sight".

--

NB: Why spag bol? Read "The Winter of our Medic's Discontent" .net/s/4796465/1/The_winter_of_our_medics_discontent [/plug]


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

**20****th**** December**

**0130hrs**

Perceptor sat at his desk, stacks of digipads in front of him, the large screen of his research computer stretched out on the wall displaying titbits of information which he thought useful to the pertaining diagnosis he was trying to make. He'd discussed at length with First Aid the possibility of a splitting CPU personality format. The young medic was right, it was incredibly rare and Perceptor himself had only seen three cases in person and 6 others detailed in poorly formatted files in over 10 million years of research. He recalled Ratchet had seen maybe 8 in person and maybe 20 on file, but most of them crossed over. Wheeljack may have seen some, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't like he could inquire now.

Most of the information was sparse and poorly described, most of the files were damaged from time or virus or some other defect in the software or internal structure of the digi pad they sat within. Most of what sat before him came from human psychiatric literature, and several from similar robotic alien life. The raft of difference between organic and robotic life aside, given they had so few cases to go on, Perceptor was reserved to the fact they needed to use outside sources, if a diagnosis and subsequent cure came from these words, then marvellous, if not, nothing was really lost.

Chip had been most useful in providing a range of information and sourcing opinions from friends and family of his who were in the medical profession. As soon as had come out that Sunstreaker was claiming he was seeing "ghosts", the scientists figured very quickly that it must have been Sideswipe who had discussed the topic with Chip in such words that perhaps he, too, was seeing the same. As they were twins, with almost identical structures and CPUs, it was likely whatever progression Sunstreaker had passed through, Sideswipe might also end up with the same symptoms. So having him confined to the room, under watch, could prove useful to curing both of them.

The scientist had only a few hours previous, been given the report that both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, in different cells, not having had contact with each other for at least a day, had started screaming the same words "spaghetti bolognaise". He was unsure of the significance of such words. He was unsure why they were yelling them, while they had no contact. He was unsure if being twins might have something to do with it. He was unsure if it was some kind of PTSD. He was unsure if it was CPU personality format splitting. He was unsure. And being unsure was something he didn't like. He was far from arrogant, but he was the best mind on Cybertron, before the war, and during it, and most likely, if he survived, he would be so after it. So not knowing, was rather… unsettling.

"How goes it, Percy?"

The scientist looked up from his digipads and down to the floor where the voice had come from.

Chip.

"I am finding this lack of information to be most limiting in formulating a diagnosis".

It was a rather blunt response coming from the Autobot.

"I wish I could help you more, Perce. Could I have a look over the twins' scans? I can't promise I'll find anything, but another pair of eyes is far from a bad thing".

"Indubitably".

The scientist handed the intelligent young human the digipad, as soon as the man touched it, the pad shrunk to a more human friendly size.

"I must say, Chip, you remain here a good deal of time post your designated cessation. Are you not feeling the need for recharge?"

"I'm tired, yeah, but this is really nagging me. I actually made it out to my car, and while I was sitting there, behind the wheel, debating whether I should turn the keys, all I could really think about was what's wrong with the Twins, and I don't like such thoughts that continue to natter away inside my head! And I just knew if I made it home, and got to bed, I'd be lying awake all night thinking what was wrong. So I figure, I might as well stay here, put my obsessions to good use, and see if I can help".

It was a lengthy explanation, something Perceptor was no stranger too, but it relayed the thoughts of the human quite well.

Chip locked the breaks on his chair and began to read through the large amount of information he now had at his disposal.

It was about twenty minutes later, well, twenty three minutes and four seconds to be exact, later that Chip spoke up:

"Spaghetti bolognaise?"

The tone he gave to the words could have been argued that he was speaking to himself more then anyone else. But Perceptor, more then happy, and uncharacteristically, to have a distraction from the seemingly go no where research, responded.

"Yes, the twins have both been screaming out those words for hours since when Sunstreaker came online, and Sideswipe began thirty six minutes later. We are not sure of the significance".

"Yeah, but its kind of a strange thing to start hollering about".

"Precisely".

Chip went quiet for a moment and then suddenly, giggled.

"Chip? You find amusement in something?"

Perceptor sounded rather irritated.

"Oh my. Perceptor! Spaghetti bolognaise! Years ago the twins decided to torment Ratchet more then usual, they loaded up a heap of that stuff into a catapult of some form and then it splattered it all over Ratch when he opened a cupboard in his medbay. I think it was back when you guys were still in the Ark… I mean, maybe its got nothing to do with it, but it's the only thing I can think that would have the twins screaming about it".

Perceptor was quiet for a moment. He leant back in his chair and brushed his chin with his thumb and index finger.

"It could stand to reason that if their CPU is splitting personalities that perhaps this split began many solar cycles ago, and that "prank" was an indication of its beginning. It could be hypothesized that those antics are an indication of the beginnings of a split".

"Well, and don't quote me, but I think one of the first things people tend to notice about someone developing schizophrenia is that they start doing things that are out of character".

The scientist stood and began to walk towards another large computer within his lab.

"I am formulating a theory, thank you for your assistance, Chip".

Which was as politely as possible that the Autobot could tell Chip to go home. Chip was feeling tired, and didn't take it personally, the scientist was not a very social type and his ability to relay his emotions or to ask someone to leave were not very tactful.

"Well, good luck, Perce, I'll check in again tomorrow, okay?"

Perceptor didn't respond, and was obviously too far gone into his current strain of research to notice the young human leave.

**--**

**0240hrs**

Chip arrived home and dumped his keys on the small table by his door. He lived close to the Autobot City, on a small subdivision that was growing in size to accommodate the increase in human workers returning to the facility. It'd been empty for quite some time after the attack, and the small town which housed the human workers and colleagues had taken the brunt of human casualties.

He enjoyed his home. It was quite and peaceful; most of the time, and its proximity to the city made it a quick commute to and from. Spike and Carly lived with their son closer to the major city, a good 1 and a half hours drive from the Autobot's city, but Carly had packed a tantrum when Spike had suggested they live on site after Daniel was born. She was a staunch supporter of the Autobots and what they stood for, and she was far from being a coward, but that didn't mean she didn't want her son to be blasted to dust when the 'Cons attacked because he was playing in the backyard of their house which was a few metres from the Autobot's city.

His cat, Einstein, lazily jumped down from the couch in the darkened lounge to come greet him, not from any affection of Chip, but for a feed of fresh meat from the fridge. The dry biscuits that sat in the dish during the day, well, the fluffy Tom wasn't going to tolerate that for very long. Chip rolled himself into the kitchen after having picked the ample pussy up onto his lap.

"I'm pretty sure there's a can of Tuna in here, would you like that Einstein?"

He chuckled as he patted the cat, it purred in response.

There was a smell in the kitchen.

It was a smell that didn't belong there.

No one had been in the house all day, in fact, he'd left the house at about 10am the day prior. No one had been here to cook and he doubted that Einstein and his little paws, no opposable thumbs present, would be able to cook up a big pot of spag bol.

The smell was undeniable.

"Spaghetti bolognaise".

He said simply.

The cat stood up awkwardly on the man's lap. It growled, not at the human. Its fur stood on end, its face scrunched up into an angry mess and it hissed loudly, before jumping down from the human and racing away to hide in some part of the house.

The temperature in the kitchen suddenly dropped very quickly. Yes, it was cold outside, but it had been warm in the house. It could have been explained away as the cold entering through the door when Chip came into the house, but that would be to simple for what Chip was starting to think was happening.

"Ratchet?"

He whispered. Realising how stupid that was.

He sat. He waited. The smell and the chill remained.

Somewhere in the house he heard a loud bang.

He wheeled himself out as quickly as possible into the living area and flicked the light on. Einstein was no where to be seen. The light then flicked off. The chill in the room was now almost intolerable. He threw the switch a few times, thinking it had just blown a bulb. It flicked on and off as usual. He took his fingers away from the switch and simply sat there, waiting, wondering. Every light in the house then flickered on and off for about 20 seconds not in any form of unison. Chip was a man of science, but even this scared all sorts of shit out of him.

He wheeled backwards to the door.

"Einstein…"

Somewhere within the room the cat meowed sadly.

"Ratchet… if that [i]is[/i] you, why are you doing this? I was your friend!"

A book flew across the room and smashed a vase off the table. The TV fell from the desk it sat upon, the iron sitting on its board was flung through the air until the cable pulled taut, it hung there, in the air, as if someone was holding it, then it dropped, landing hard on the carpet the water from within spilled out leaving a dark puddle.

"Screw this. EINSTEIN!"

The cat suddenly came bolting out from under the couch and jumped up onto his lap and the man escaped his own house.

Chip spent the night, with his rather smelly and angry and hungry cat, in his car. When the first rays of light smacked him in the face, he wondered if he should tell Perceptor.

--

**0350hrs**

Perceptor stretched his arms above his head, craning his head on its rotational plane to try and ease the strain it was under from the constant staring down at the information that didn't seem to be yielding any results.

He at first had wondered if the Twins' antics were a result of a splitting, but from their personnel files, it turned out they had always been like that. Either bored or just nasty pranksters they were always causing irritation to their superiors. And on Earth, the target of their irritation had become Ratchet, and Ratchet had been only too happy to throw tantrum after tantrum. Should the former CMO ignored their jabs, and just put up with their stupidity inflicted injuries, then the twins probably would have gone after another.

An internal alert informed him that he needed to initiate recharge within the next hour or he was going to crash. He sighed. Having found no more clues as to their behaviour, and his train of thought having yielded no results; he decided to obey his warning systems and go shut down for a time.

Perceptor walked along the empty corridor towards his quarters when his internal sensors alerted him to a temperature drop. It was an odd thing to happen given the temperature a moment ago was rather pleasant and there was no opening anywhere in the area that the air could enter to cool the place. The lights along the edges of the walls that provided mild night lighting started to flicker. Most probably issues with the city's environmental controls. Construction and rebuilding was still continuing and occasionally someone cut the wrong wire or welded shut the wrong vent or something somewhere went wrong and shut down some system in some compound. He sighed at the ignorance of those and reached his door.

After the sixth attempt to access his quarters he started to curse those who were responsible for the wiring and computer maintenance in the habit wing. It kept telling him the security code was not recognised and he had two more attempts before security would be alerted. He figured it would enhance his chances of entrance in a timely manner if a security officer did show up. Of course, some of the newer officers didn't know him and there were times when they told him he was lying and Perceptor had actually ended up spending a night in the brig when one of the new recruits refused to believe an Autobot could be so "pouncy" – Perceptor had refused to get into a fight with an over fuelled new recruit and so was labelled a spy and a coward.

Perceptor tried one more time and was inwardly relieved when he succeeded. The light turned green and all he had to do now was hit that green button and the doors would open into his quarters; he could recharge, and then wake in the morning, refreshed, and hopefully able to better address the issue that was at hand. Instead he heard a strange sound.

He wasn't able to give it an elucidation. It got louder. He turned to face the direction it was coming from and there at the end of the hallway was standing someone.

"I say, who are you?"

Perceptor asked, his vocaliser a little shaky.

There was an unexplained mist that seemed to be drifting outwards from the figure. Perhaps a broken pipe releasing steam or cold fog oozing in from the outside earthen planet.

"Are you fully functioning?"

He asked, wondering if the mist might have been coming from a damaged part of the mech.

The sound then became clearer; he was able to label it. It was a moan, a shriek actually. It floated along the nippy air until it embraced him. What then unsettled him the most was that he could see the wall panels behind the mech. The mech was transparent.

"Mirage? Are you stuck in your…"

He began to speak, inwardly knowing it was not Mirage. The large triangular wings juttering out from the shoulders an indication of that. Well, there was one wing, the other was broken at the tip and it ran down the metal as a large jaggered rip. The optics were glowing black, the head casing wasn't entirely intact and part of the CPU was seen, it was bleak and like the rest of him, see through. The torso was just as scuffed and mangled as the wings and arms, but the legs didn't exist, it was simply the mist around him. It floated towards him.

Perceptor gave a small cry of shock as he realised it was Thundercracker who was now tearing down the hall towards him, his very dead arms stretched out.

The scientist only just managed to get the door to his quarters open and fell inside. Clanging loudly as he struggled to turn and shut the door.

He was panting deeply, stressed, his body pulling in air in an attempt to cool down his systems. The scientist sat there, shivering, frightened. He managed to pull himself up and towards his berth. He lay down into the foetal position, pulling his blanket up over him and praying to Primus that thing didn't get in. He began to initiate recharge, nervously hoping it would work.

Science proved no comfort that night.

--

NB: Okay, so I know Thundercracker was reformed into one of the Sweeps or was it Cyclonus, I forget which, but in one of the season three eps you actually see his tomb, so I dunno, maybe his spark no longer exists in that twisted new structure.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve **

**20****th**** December**

**0500hrs**

If it wasn't for the chronometer being an internal fixture of his system, he'd probably be looking down at his wrist, tapping his watch impatiently. Ultra Magnus, City Commander, could not believe how exactly the Autobots had managed to settle into Earth and defeat the Decepticons on multiple occasions with such lack lustre military practice.

"They're just gone over a minute late, lad, how you going to punish the little scamps?"

The old timer asked matter of factually.

"I'm not impressed".

He crossed his heavy set arms over his broad chest, his optics flashing brightly with annoyance.

"Don't let it burn your diodes out, Magnus; these youngin's aren't properly trained like us old timers. Prime was great, but his best work didn't involve whipping kids into military shape".

"Sparing with the Decepticons was never going to win them the war".

Seemed like the city commander wasn't even paying attention to the other, or at least answering his own set of unheard questions.

Finally, after a good five more minutes of Magnus standing quietly stewing with internal rage, the group of young Autobots showed up to duty.

Magnus ran his optics over them, and they immediately knew they were in the wrong and they were going to get it.

Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Warpath, Hound and Mirage stood before the two senior officers.

"I am not Prime".

Magnus turned to his right and began to take firm, well placed, well thought out steps.

"I am not a nice mech".

His strides were long and imposing.

"I am not here to be your femme co-creator".

He stopped hands cupped firmly behind his back.

"I am not here to make you feel good about yourselves".

He pivoted.

"I am here to remind you all that the war isn't over".

He began his strides again.

"I am here to try and beat you into some semblance of military function".

He stopped.

"I am here to ensure you wear your insignia with pride".

He turned to face them.

"I AM HERE TO ENSURE YOU DO THINGS PROPERLY! WITH RESPECT TO THE AUTOBOT MILTIARY CODE! THIS IS NOT SOME CRECHE FOR SPARKLINGS! THIS IS A MILITARY EFFORT AGAINST A MILITARILY SUPERIOR FORCE!!"

He screamed.

Kup just stood there, not stunned, not concerned; obviously he'd seen it before.

"YOU MAY HAVE LOVED OPTIMUS PRIME. HE MAY HAVE BEEN NICE TO YOU, HE MAY HAVE BEEN KIND TO YOU, HE MAY HAVE KISSED YOUR BOO-BOOS BUT I WILL NOT!! NOW MOVE YOUR RUSTING AFTS! I WANT TWENTY LAPS AROUND THE BOUNDARY FENCE IN ROBOT MODE!! Kup, keep pace! GO GO GO!!"

He roared.

The Autobots before him looked so shocked at the outburst that all they could was take off running, the older Autobot transforming and following behind, blasting the occasional laser into the dirt behind them to scare them into hurrying up. They meant business.

**0630hrs**

Prowl had been a good solider.

An excellent officer.

And he was always on time.

His replacement, Jazz, well, he was lot more "relaxed" and certainly didn't take Magnus' screaming as a threat and certainly didn't look like he cared if he was busted down to "cleaning drone".

So, at 0630, Magnus was waiting for Jazz who was supposed to be in here at 0600hrs to report on some recent human protest outside the Ark. The location of the Ark was supposed to be classified, and while it wasn't their primary base, it still served a purpose, so for the natives to find it, and park out there with their little signs and their swear words, it didn't impress him. It was more evidence that the Autobots weren't taking the war seriously. Well, they were all in for a Pit of a wake up call.

It was still dark outside.

Earth was a lucky planet, not all worlds he'd been on had the luxury of day and night, most didn't have a liveable climate, and the vast majority didn't have the ability to support even the most primitive forms of organic life.

The lights in his office remained relatively dimmed, primarily because as a being who could see in infra-red he didn't see the purpose in wasting energy to fuel a light source that he didn't need.

He heard a shuffle.

He ignored it at first, passing it off as the noise of some organic life form that may have found its way in through an un-welded gap in the walls. A rat? Was that what the human called them?

There it was again, it was a little louder, a little more intentional in their movements.

Having no time for such small creatures he simply continued to read over several other files unrelated to Jazz's up and coming (hopefully) report. One was discussing the importance of stricter rationing, which no one needed to tell him that. The report wasn't properly documented, and since it had no signature or designation he flicked it into the "disregard" pile. The other report that had his attention was one on the completely undisciplined method of which the Autobots used their weaponry and the absolute waste of energy and resources that were pumped into repair of Autobots who were injured in poorly structured military exercises and the subsequent explosions that came with.

The shuffle carried itself across the room.

He didn't gain any further of his attention.

The City Commander had just reached the part in the report where it was detailing an event where the Twins had "borrowed" (stolen in the Commander's opinion) a large amount of tank busters and had rigged them into one massive incinery device and then planted up the side of a nearby mountain, their intention, as the report detailed, was to cause a land side of sludgy mud down onto an Autobot called Tracks. This of course, did not happen. What happened was that half the mountain had gone up in one fiery mass of smoke and dirt. It rained down on Tracks of course, seriously injuring him, but also it rained down upon a human settlement injuring in 42 people and killing three. The force of the explosion resulted in the geographical event classed as an "earthquake" by the natives which caused significant structural damage to their local infrastructure. How in the hell Optimus managed to get his soldiers off without facing some kind of manslaughter charge was beyond him. Perhaps it would be detailed further in the report. But it was no surprise to him that these Twins were trouble, the little snots were probably faking the whole "split CPU" thing.

The shuffle changed into a very obvious metallic rattle.

Sounded almost like a chain was being dragged.

Someone whispered.

While he couldn't clarify the word that was spoken, he was sure something had been spoken. IT was the kind of sensation that someone was in the next room speaking, and while you could identify that they were indeed speaking you couldn't guess which words were being spoken. The Autobot was less then impressed.

CLANG!

Magnus stayed in his seat, unmoved.

CLANG CLANG CLANG!!

He leant back in his seat and flicked the digipad he was holding onto the desk and just glared in the direction of the noise.

Shuffle.

CLANG CLANG, CLANG, CLANG, CLANG…. CLANG CLANG.

Shuffle.

The door suddenly opened and Jazz stood in the entrance way.

"Hey Commander, what's shaking!"

"Firstly, I am unimpressed with your tardiness. Jazz, you are an officer in the Autobot Army, you are a respected member of the higher order, you are to conduct yourself in a manner worthy of the insignia you have brandished on your chassis. You are to conduct yourself in a manner that ensures those under your command see you are worthy of that insignia. You must live your cycle in such a manner that is respectful and deserving of respect. Being late and speaking with such a jovial tone is not behaviour worthy of that insignia. I feel I have said this many times, but under Optimus things were not as strict as they should have been. This will change. I will not repeat myself on this matter, is that understood, Lt. Jazz?"

Jazz was a little taken back by the heavy words, but nodded and was aware of himself giving an affirmative as a reply.

"Now, let us discuss the matters at hand. And I do wish to include on the agenda this morning the shame I have regarding this construction. Already I have witnessed this shoddy workmechship".

"Ah… yes sir".

--


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

**20****th**** December**

**1408hrs**

"How have they been?"

The scientist asked as he entered the room and faced the young medic who was sitting behind the control panel.

"Essentially the same. Although, Sunstreaker has stopped screaming about spaghetti bolognaise".

"And Sideswipe?"

"Well, I've had to go stand outside the cell itself due to there being some kind of electrical issue with the microphone. All I keep getting is static".

"Really? Static? How interesting. Have you been able to locate any condition within the system which could be indicative of a defect?"

The scientist inquired. Inwardly impressed at how calm he'd managed to stay after the early morning… events.

"Yeah, its quite strange. I've run scans of them every ten minutes and after every outburst, but still nothing to indicate, or that could indicate a CPU split".

First Aid looked up at the scientist and with dimmed optics added.

"I just don't have any clue as to what's going on".

He paused.

"I'm… I'm scared, Percy, all this… everything that's happening, what they've said has been happening… some of the experiences I can't explain, stuff I've seen… it makes no sense and I don't know what to do".

The young doctor was definitely frightened by whatever prospect he was giving thought to be the causative factor.

"I am apprehensive to confess that I, too…"

Suddenly the door opened, startling both the Autobots and cutting short what the scientist was going to attempt to admit too, Chip wheeled in.

"Hey guys, how's it going?"

The young man asked.

The two Autobots looked at each other and then back at the human. Chip was in quite a sorry looking state, his shirt was ruffled and covered in cat fur, his eyes had bags under them and he the light fluff that was indication of missing his daily shave, his pants were creased and again, like his shirt, covered in cat fur. His own hair was a bit messy and his glasses dirty with smudges.

"Are you alright, Chip?"

First Aid asked as he stood from his chair.

"Yes, I must admit, albeit with an attempt to spare your feelings, that you don't look to be functioning at peak efficiency".

Perceptor stated.

"Did you recharge effectively?"

The doctor asked.

"Actually… I slept in my car, with my cat, who didn't seem too impressed to be sleeping in my car".

"You initiated recharge in your automobile?"

Perceptor asked, somewhat stunned.

"Attempted too".

"Why would you sleep in your car, didn't you make it home last night? And why was your cat in the car?"

First Aid added.

"You guys are going to think I'm going crazy, but because you're my friends, and I trust your opinions, both as friends and scientists, I guess there can't be too much harm in telling you".

He paused to see what kind of reaction he'd get.

"Tell us what?"

The doctor responded, obviously clued into Chip's thought process.

"Science is my friend. I believe in the laws of physics and science has never steered me wrong, but there's no way science can explain what I saw last night – my damn house is haunted!"

Chip paused, waiting for the moment when optic ridges would raise and sedatives would be administered. When this didn't happen he continued.

"I came home, went inside and I could smell spaghetti bolognaise, and I haven't cooked that in ages, and I haven't had any in the house for months. The closest neighbour is a thirty minute drive away and so there's no way any dinner smells they cooked could waft that far – plus, it was like 3 in the morning! Then things started throwing themselves around the room! I tell you, I got out of there faster then Blurr on a bender! Then there was the electrical disturbance and the temperature drop".

Still no odd looks. Still no sedatives.

"I tell you, I was freaked out. Einstein and I got the hell out of there. Either someone is playing a really sophisticated joke on me, or something else is going on".

First Aid sat back down and cupped his hands on his lap.

Perceptor simply leant back against panel and continued to watch the human.

"At least I can tell you guys and not end up in a padded cell".

Chip rubbed his hand through his grubby hair.

"But what the hell am I going to do? I'm a man of science and last night, I'm not ashamed to say to you guys, I was cowering like a little girl in the back seat of my car, thank god I had a spare of pants in the boot, cos Einstein browned all over me!"

"I am aware that there is a burgeoning science that focuses on the "paranormal", perhaps we could investigate its methods with the intent to discover the causative factors of the events that are transpiring".

It was ludicrous. But even Perceptor had a way of making the utterly insane sound perfectly reasonable and logical.

As they stood there in uncomfortable silence, the radio perked up, Blaster was requesting First Aid to come immediately to the firing range, someone was injured. The medic was up and gone within a matter of seconds, departing with the comment that once this was sorted he'd return and they'd begin this process.

"I saw Thundercracker this morning".

The scientist said to the human rather abruptly.

"What?"

Chip asked, stunned.

"In the passage, close to my quarters. There was a temperature drop and an electrical disturbance. I hadn't planned on informing anyone, but given your experience last night, I have concluded that these events are either related to the paranormal as the probability of us both experiencing hallucinations of a similar nature due to our lack of recharge is rather slight".

Perceptor explained.

"But isn't Thundercracker one of the Sweeps now?"

"Scourge, I believe".

The scientist replied.

"Then how can Thundercracker be a ghost if he's still alive, albeit in some form?"

"Perhaps Unicron only used Thundercracker's shell and gave it an entirely new spark, as Scourge's behaviour and personality is markedly different to that of Thundercrackers".

"But you'd think that if Thundercracker was going to be a ghos… well, haunt some place, it'd be where he died, and he didn't die here".

"I'm beginning to accept the possibility that there is no logic or reason to these events".

"So where does that leave the twins? Are they really being haunted?"

"Possibly. But the point of a CPU split must be continued to be investigated until it, or the paranormal explanation, has been ruled out".

"What now, then?"

Chip inquired.

"I do believe that you humans have multiple television shows that detail this particular branch of your science, or perhaps we could "Google" the information required".

"Well, we gotta start somewhere, I suppose".


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

**20****th**** December**

**1930hrs.**

"Look, I'm sorry, okay, but you always knew I didn't get on well with your brother, he just rubs me the wrong way, and as for your mother!!"

"Its five days before Christmas and you thought it'd be acceptable to just pack up and haul your family across the country back home? Just because you can't hold your tongue for a few family gatherings?"

"Its your family".

"It became YOUR family too, you know, oh, I think I remember the day they became your family. What was it? Oh yeah, the day we got MARRIED!"

"Bite my tongue? Its your mother who seems to wag hers more then a happy dog?"

"Are you calling my mother a bitch?"

"Noo.. no. No!"

"Oh then what are you saying? What are you going to say to your son when he was wakes on Christmas morning with just him us and a house without decoration?"

"He'll be fine!"

"He was fine before! With his cousins, his uncles, his aunties, his grandparents!"

"You ever stop to think that he's okay! He's not going to care where he is when he gets to unwrap all that crap we got him! He's some little sissy! For god's sake, you'll going to soften him up with all your mothering, he'll end up…"

"End up what?? Gay? Like my brother? Huh? Is that what your problem, you're homo hating bigot?"

"NO! Don't put words in my mouth!"

"OH, I think you're doing a good enough job putting your foot in there!"

"I wouldn't care if he was… like your brother… _that_ way?"

"Really? You can't even say the word, are you that much of a close minded fool?"

"What! No! I just don't see a point in saying that word".

"Because it disgusts you? You think you're going to go gay if you say it?"

"I'll probably go gay if I thought it'd stop your constant nagging!"

Slap.

"I'm getting our son, and I'm getting our bags and we're going back to my parents' place, and if you decide you can control your bigoted sarcasm you're welcome to join us. If not, enjoy your flight".

"You're not making any sense, this argument isn't making any sense!"

The blond woman was already walking back towards the exit, bags hanging from one arm, son in the other. The very public airport seemed to continue on without too much concern for two people arguing. It was busy. Flights delayed, some cancelled, people every where, sleeping, sitting, sweating. It was just a normal airport day five days before Christmas.

"I LIKE GAYS!"

The man screamed across the lobby that for those three words went suddenly very quiet, he got a few glances, some annoyed, some confused, and some that came with a wink and set of puckered lips.

"GOD!"

Spike growled as he grabbed his curly brown locks and parked his backside down on the grubby seat that's cushion was long since flattened into anything other then comfy.

Carly and Daniel were soon no longer visible in the crowd. How horrifically embarrassing. He could either return home and try and explain to anyone who saw him, why he wasn't with his wife and child on the most family orientated day of the year, or he could just go back to his in-laws, maybe swing by a bottle shop and get some expensive bottle of grog as an excuse for his not returning with his bride. He sighed and lent his head back, staring up at the high ceiling and its maze of pipes and dotted with migraine inducing florescent lights.

"Wow, you certainly know how to dig yourself into a hole, son".

The voice was gruff, with a the hint of wisdom that age often brought. If it wasn't for the fact his father was dead, he would have guessed it was him. It wasn't. It was an older man, perhaps late 50s, early 60s. He wore a business suit, which was ruffled from probably waiting too long in this place for a delayed flight. His head was devoid of hair. Expensive looking glasses sat uncomfortably on the bridge of his nose. He loosened his tie slightly and smiled at him.

"Let me tell you something kid, and its not every day you get advice that could save your marriage for free".

Spike wasn't too impressed to be getting marital advice from a bald businessman in an airport terminal five days before Christmas, but it was something other then listening to his own thoughts, so tolerated it.

"One: women, they're always right, even when they're wrong, even when they know their wrong, even when you know they're wrong and even when they know you know they're wrong. If you have a penis, you're always wrong. The sooner you accept that the better".

He rubbed his fuzzy chin and pushed those glasses up his nose a little higher.

"Two: women can hate their family, they can hate their parents, they will bitch and moan and bellyache you till you want to vomit, and they may be right. Their family may be a bunch of bastards, nasty, mean, horrid, the usual. But YOU must never, EVER bitch about HER family. Ever".

He leant back ever so slightly, just enough it seemed to adjust his pants.

"Three: the saying is marriage is compromise is bullshit. The real truth is marriage is about keeping her happy. And if she's happy, chances are you would have sold your soul and principles to do it. If it means agreeing with her racist Republican father you agree, if it means telling her fat ugly Democrat mother you're voting for Hillary because you think a woman would do America good, you say it. If it means telling her gay brother, no your arse doesn't look big in that, you say it. If it means listening to her little sister tell you all about her lousy boyfriend then you listen. You never complain to your wife about her racist dad, her feminazi mother, her flaming brother, or her irritating little skank of a sister".

He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a hanky, wiped his nose.

"Four: women are like elephants, they don't forget. Don't ever tell your wife you think she's like an elephant. But be warned, anything you do that pisses her off, she'll remember till her dying day. This here, this is one of those things".

He stuffed the damp hanky back into his pocket.

"Go after your wife, son, because it's a rare thing to have a beautiful wife and child in these days, especially around Christmas".

"Thanks".

Spike stood, grabbed his bag and started pushing through the throng of people that milled around.

--

There was no way the man could find a way to please everyone with just one bottle of wine, and so had purchased a Chardonnay and a Merlot, both incredibly expensive and sourced from a old New Zealand winery. He went for the New Zealand source because he thought it might cotton him some favour with her very classy gay brother and because her parents had spent their honey moon in some part of that country, he forgot where, and hoped they wouldn't ask.

He sat in the rental car thumbing the edges of the slightly damp bills, he wondered if he'd ever find a place in her family. He was the son of a grease monkey and there was only so far his "I'm the Ambassador of Earth" title would carry him. He hadn't gotten there from hard work or education or breeding, but from sheer dumb luck, he was in the right place at the right time and met an alien species who changed his life. Her father was a leading obstetrician and had invented several amazing techniques with which to operate on ill foetuses. Her mother was a local court judge, after having served as the district attorney for about a decade. Her career was spotted with presidential meetings and land mark cases, which she, of course, won. Her brother (the gay one) was also a lawyer and one hell of a civil rights activist, he would often be busy with public speaking and appearances on talk shows – he had a picture in his office of him and Oprah and a then bright eye politician called Obama someone. Her other brother was a doctor, a surgeon of some description working in an Emergency Department in New York. He wasn't there currently as he was rostered on to work festive season. Her younger sister, well, she was in her final year of law at Harvard. She too, had dreams of civil rights marches and winning law suits for the improvised and legally suppressed. His wife, of course, was a graduate of MIT with computer sciences, advanced quantum mechanics or some such. Her whole family was littered with high IQs and oozed success.

His dad had been a grease monkey.

His mum had died years ago, but she had simply been a care giver in a rest home. No education there.

His brother had dropped off the face of the earth, and had dropped out of high school when he was 16. Spike had only been 10 at the time. He hadn't heard from him since.

He never knew his mother's grandparents and had no contact with her siblings – none had obtained anything worth while with their lives.

His father's parents died when he was 5 - a car accident.

He'd grown up as an essentially only child. His dad had tried best he could to give Spike a normal life, hence his reluctance to get too involved with those aliens, but eventually relented when he saw it was actually benefiting and improving the boy's lot in life. It was opening doors.

If it wasn't for the 'bots, his father would have died a poor man in a trailer, grease still on his clothes, dirt still under his finger nails. Spike would probably be flipping burgers somewhere, and Carly, well, Carly would have been just fine without him or the Autobots.

Depressing thought really.

Spike picked up his cell phone and dialled.

It rung three times before half way through the half it was picked up.

"What?"

"Carly. I'm sorry. I did some thinking. You were right. I'm just getting some things and I'll be there soon".

There was silence for a few moments, but he could hear the occasional breath so knew she hadn't hung up.

"Mum needs some cream for the cheese cake, it needs to be the unwhipped stuff, not from a can. Fresh. And dad wants some more pretzels, the plain flavour, salted. Okay?"

"Yeah. You want anything?"

"No. I got what I wanted".

She said.

"See you soon, honey".

She finished and hung up.

Must of meant the apology.

He had just put the phone down when it rung again, thinking it was his wife who'd forgotten to add something to the list, he picked it up immediately and answered without looking at the screen.

"Wow, you answered that fast, Spike".

"Chip?"

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry to bother you, especially at your in-laws, but I got a major problem and a creepy insane one at that".

"Sure, Chip, shoot".

"Well, remember when you once told me, over a pint or two, that your dad had seen stuff during his time in the service".

"You need to be more specific then just "stuff" Chip".

He replied.

"Ghosts".

"Okay, now that's pretty specific".

"Look, this isn't a joke, and I know it must sound crazy".

"Its been a crazy night".

"I just need to know what kind of stories your dad told you, and you know… how he may have dealt with such?"

"You mean how he dealt with being haunted or something?"

"Yeah".

Chip paused for a moment.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"I never thought my dad was".

"Well… what can you tell me?"

"Um… he told me one story where he was fighting in some forest near a village they'd just raided because they heard there was an enemy base there. He said he was rushing out into the forest to secure a boarder when he saw his friend up ahead of him, my dad said he ran after his friend, trying to get to him because he was afraid of an ambush. Anyway, my dad lost him, and had to return to the village. When he got to the village he found the guy he was chasing, he'd been killed in the initial attack. My dad had been chasing a ghost. A lot of his stories are like that".

"Did he ever get "haunted", were there ever ghosts or something of a similar nature… um… hanging around?"

"Yeah, a few times. After my mum died he said she was always there in the kitchen when he got back from work. He said he could always smell his favourite dinner, a meat casserole. She made it for him the night before she was diagnosed with the cancer, she never cooked again after the docs told her, she got too sick too fast".

"How did your dad feel about that?"

"He liked it, I think it was how he managed to deal so well with her death, because it was like she was still there, it was… I don't' know… comforting to him I suppose".

"What about negative things? Anything bad ever haunt?"

Spike was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking.

"Yeah, we moved into this rental for a few months while our old house was being fixed up – there was a burst water main that flooded the basement and damaged the foundation. A lot of creepy stuff happened there. I was about 14 at the time, so old enough to know what was going on wasn't natural, and I'd grown up listening to my dad's stories enough, but hadn't seen anything myself. I know you're all into science and stuff, Chip, but there was shit in that house that I saw that I don't' think science could ever explain. Things like temperature drops when the heater was on full bore, lights would flick on and off independently, pictures would fall off the wall and one time I pan flew across the room and smashed through the pantry door. What happened all the time was the taps in the bathroom would always come on, one time I came home and the bathtub was full of water, when I reached into pull the plug out, I found there was no plug. The water was hot as, but the tap was freezing! My dad always said the bathroom and the bedroom next to it and the hallway always smelt of blood, but I didn't notice it."

Spike paused to catch his breath or dampen his lips.

"Anyway, the old lady who lived next door said that before us, an old spinster lived there, her niece was our landlord – she got the house after the woman died. But it turned out that the woman was pretty sick and demented but she wouldn't move out into a rest home, anyway, one day, maybe she was lucid, maybe she wasn't, she decided no one was going to take her from her house, she was born in that house and she was going to die there, she slit her wrists in the tub. So, maybe she was just mad at us for being in her home, or maybe she was angry that she was dead and couldn't enjoy her house anymore. I don't know. The old lady next door always said that if a place was haunted, it was either cos something horrid had happened there or the ghost was offended that someone was in their house or had unfinished business".

He ran his hand through his curly brown locks and looked down at the wine again, wondering if Chip thought he was insane.

"Unfinished business or an annoyance that someone else is there?"

"Yeah, seems to be the theme".

"So, what happened with that house?"

Chip asked.

"Well, my dad had a friend, a retired Catholic priest – he'd been the chaplain in his unit, he came and said some prayers, did some Catholic thing and hey presto, no more problems. Though, sometimes we had the feeling something was watching us, but there was none of that physical… manifestations I guess you could describe it as".

"Is that priest still alive?"

"Um, honestly, I don't know. He got sick after the war, and that's why he retired, something with Agent Orange or a chemical exposure was what my dad had said. I think he ended up in a rest home somewhere".

"Do you remember his name?"

"Ah… Father Simon… Steven… Samuel? Something like that, I think his last name was McKinnery, McInty, McGirr? I'm not sure. It was an Irish or Scottish kind of name, I remember that much. Sorry, Chip, I can't really rememb… hey… you know, there's a heap of photos my dad has and there's quite a few with that guy in them, maybe my dad wrote his name on the back of one of them".

"Great! Where can I get the photos!"

"You can't wait till I get back?"

"Sorry, Spike, this is a sort of need right now kind of situation".

"Ah… um… I think there's a few really big boxes, they're marked "photos" in a storage unit, that one on Pennly Drive. The key to the unit is on my desk in the study, its in a little dish by the computer with a bunch of other keys and small change. Its got a blue plastic tag with the number of the unit on it. I haven't been there in ages so hopefully its all okay".

Spike explained.

"Thanks so much, Spike! I really appreciate it, you know!"

"No problem, Chip, just fill me in to the rest of the story when I get back, okay. Anyway, I gotta go, just up town getting some supplies".

"Great! Well, you guys have a merry Christmas and give my best to Carly and I hope Daniel likes the present I got him".

"I'm sure he'll love it".

"He'll probably end up loving the box it comes in even more!"

The human scientist laughed. Spike joined in and it felt good to have a light hearted moment that day.

"Okay, well, merry Christmas to you, Chip, and don't let Perce rain on your parade with all his nonsense!"

"Oh, I think he'll be behaving himself!"

The two men shared another laugh before they gave their final closing and both hung up.

Spike looked at the phone, it felt warm in his hand from where it'd been resting against his ear, he shook his head and chuckled, placed the phone down and started the engine.

"Right, milk, pretzels and… whatever".

--

**Author's NB: **Sorry, I got writer's block, so I threw in 8 pages of dialogue. Hehe.


	15. Chapter 15

NB: This chapter could be deemed a little rude by some, and I usually don't like the whole "rude" stuff thrown in, but I thought it'd be amusing to ruin some skanky endevours.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**20****th**** December**

**2240hrs**

It was much colder then usual. The heavy dark clouds had dumped their wet cargo down upon the landscape that surrounded the city, resulting in a lot of mud and sludge oozing down the near by mountain slopes. The deep fluff obscured the night stars and the moon, and if it wasn't for the lights from the city it'd be pitch black. Occasionally it would drizzle, the cool damp ran down his chassis as he stood on the balcony, looking out over the rebuilding structure was both morbid and yet filled him with some hope… but the new leader of the Autobot did wonder how long it would take for the Decepticons to render this place to near ash again.

"Coming back to the berth, baby?"

The cheap femmebot who most would class as a whore called to him.

He turned and looked at her from his position and smiled insincerely. She either didn't notice, didn't pick it up, or didn't care. He came back to the berth and sat down.

"So… can I visit again tomorrow? My shuttle leaves in two cycles, tomorrow will probably be the last night we have".

She nattered.

"Sure".

He said without looking at her.

Most of his officers would evacuate their fuel tanks if they knew the Autobot leader was 'facing some cheap skank off a transport. She was simply just another grunt on that scruffy looking shuttle that hauled scrap around the universe. She was the only femme on board so she probably had more roles then just "interior atheistic co-ordinator", which was a fancy way of saying she kept things spotless. She didn't pick colour schemes or lighting modes, she was essentially a cleaner, and he'd been on the shuttle, she certainly didn't do that job very effectively.

There was also no way he could or wanted to know exactly what else she got up to on shore leave in different ports. He cringed and was glad that if he did pick up anything First Aide would be tactful and respect his privacy. Unlike that old medic… what was his name? Ratchet? Rodimus was sure he'd met him before, years ago, during the early days of his life at the training facility. Ratchet had been passing through, visiting one of the senior officers or someone, and while he hadn't, or couldn't be sure, that he had met him in person, or even conversed with him, he had seen him rag on some idiot who forgot it's the grenade you throw, not the pin.

He was aware of the strumpet-bot massaging his broad shoulders and whispering incredibly dirty things into his audios. He chuckled deeply, seductively, only by reflex. Arcee would be horrified, but she was with Springer now, so she pretty much voided her right to nag him about his choices in femmes. He sure would be disappointing Optimus if he could see him now. But that Prime was dead, he was in charge now. Optimus always had femmes gunning for him, but with Elite as his "wife", to use a human word, he behaved himself and remained loyal to his vow to her. Plus, most femmes would never _dare _cross paths with Elite. He wondered if Elite was still alive somewhere. After the mess Unicron made on Cybertron Elite and her team were unable to be located and it was presumed they, like so many, were offline. But in the few months Rodimus was in charge, he'd berthed at least 63 femmes. He was quite amazed how he found the time, and how he'd not been caught by Magnus or yelled at by Magnus. Tight afted bastard.

"Ooooh".

The femme moaned as she ran her tapering fingers up his back linkage support. He remained somewhat stoic for a moment, giving continued thoughts to his angst.

"What's wrong baby? Ain't I getting your engine revving?"

She asked as she ran her hands under his arms and down his abdomen.

He turned to address her and decided he better show some interest, femmes of her type talked with other femmes of her type and they might spread a rumour that he was a bastard or a cold 'facer and that never won the good ones over to his cheap hit up lines. He gave her a passionate kissed, albeit forced and was working his fingers around the latches of her chassis when they were both startled by a loud metallic sounding clang.

"What was that?"

She asked, head perking up and jerking around.

"I dunno".

Rodimus stood from the berth and his optics began to access the surrounds of his quarters. Magnus would have just stood there, making himself known by the simple aura of his disapproval. Kup would have made some comment that could be argued as forced, amused or reminiscent of his life. Perhaps a Decepticon spy?

His sensors relayed to him that there was no one there. So he shrugged.

"Guess it just must be some structural echo from the construction work somewhere".

He reckoned as he sat back down on the berth.

"Now, I do believe I was about to see what I'm dealing with".

Their first romp had been fast and without any real thought of generosity for the other, most of their armour had remained on, and Rodimus had always felt cheap for not getting completely… revealed… with his current _entertainment. _ The slut in his berth didn't seem to care either way.

The latches on her chassis gave way and he was in the process of removing it when the clanging sound became more intentional.

"Someone is there!"

She pushed him off her in obvious concern.

"But my sensors said…"

"Your sensors must be screwy!"

She growled at him irritably, he was going to reply with a rather nasty comment regarding interfacing transmitted viruses and corrupt programming but thought better of it if he wanted a round two.

"I'll check again".

He sighed.

"You do that".

She tried to sound sarcastic, but it came out unsteady and she just came across as afraid.

Rodimus swung a leg over the berth and was going to place it on the floor when the whole berth began to shake violently. The harlot started screaming, grabbing the flimsy metallic sheet up to her loosened chassis plate. Rodimus lost his balance and fell flat on the floor. While down there he peered under the berth, there was nothing there and his scanners told him there was no physical reason why it would be shaking so.

The new leader of the Autobots staggered upright and hushed the panicking floozy.

The bed stopped shaking and there was a strange and uneasy silence in the large quarters.

"What was that? What's happening? Is this some kind of kinky joke? What's wrong with you? Are you doing this?"

The trollop stammered through her shock.

"Shut up".

Rodimus growled softly.

The femme of the night didn't particularly want to hang around and see what would happen.

"Don't call me!"

She squealed as she jumped from the berth and ran towards the door. The yellow, orange and red Autobot wasn't sure if it was her panicking or something on the ground, but the femme suddenly tripped. She landed hard on her front, naked chassis, her pieces of armour lying strewn about the room; she was obviously not interested in her shame. Obviously.

The Prime felt his fuel tanks churn when he watched her flip over – against her own power. She was suddenly being dragged by some invisible force along the floor towards the door. She, obviously, was screaming, limbs flailing out against a force unseen, unheard and very realistically untouchable. The Autobot was very much concerned to say the least and took a few steps back, unsure what he needed to do to make this event stop. Then he felt a heavy force against his chest, he was aware of him no longer being in touch with the floor, aware of being in the air, being pulled back or pushed and then wham, he was slammed into the wall. The force knocked his CPU from consciousness.

--

Coming back online, he wasn't sure if he'd been in deep recharge and all of the events had been a twisted dream. Instead, he found an empty quarters, with the armour of a femme laying about the place, the sheet that she'd gripped during the berth's shaking was now bunched up against the door. She was gone. In a moment of clarity he was inwardly horrified and outwardly concerned what Magnus or anyone would say if they found out or witnessed a naked Jezebel running screaming from his quarters. His internal chronometer wasn't back online yet so he was unable to determine the time. He slowly stood, rubbing the back of his head which had taken the brunt of the impact. There was a rather sickening unease in the room, a sensation in the atmosphere that existed there that unsettled him He braced himself against the wall and made an action that was similar to a cough.

After a few moments he managed to take a few steps towards the berth. It was cold and empty. He activated the lights with a verbal command and found no response. He decided it best to leave. Now. He rummaged around until he found his armour and reattached it, no matter how bad, there was no point in strolling around naked as the day his creator sparked him.

Of course, there was the issue of what the Pit was that and what does he do now?

Where too from now?


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

**21****st**** December**

**0940hrs**

"Mr. Chase, I have to tell you, I can't just let you visit a resident who you have no relation to, four days before Christmas and right during morning tea time".

"I'm sorry, Sister, but he's a good friend of my best friend's father, who's passed away recently. My friend is out of the country and he can't just ring up the Padre and tell him over the phone, so he sent me".

"So being told of death over the phone is worse then being told by a stranger?"

The large breasted nurse crossed her oddly muscular arms over her chest and seemed unimpressed by his pleas. She reminded him of the incredibly vicious nurse from _One flew over the cuckoo's nest…_ who's name was very similar to a certain deceased Autobot. He never dared mention that, but was sure the Twins had somehow found out about it and made the CMO a little paper cap.

"I realise its highly unorthodox and slightly inappropriate but please, ma'am, my friend says that the Padre has information regarding where his father was to be buried and a few other important…"

"Look, okay, I accept what you're saying and where you're coming from but the good Padre is demented".

"Demented? How bad is it?"

"He's nuttier then squirrel shit is the most professional way I can class it".

She said firmly.

"Well, then is there really any harm in talking to him?"

The nurse looked at him for a moment and whether it from realisation he wasn't going to go away or pity for his condition, she relented.

"Alright".

She turned and screamed a female's name that Chip couldn't quite catch down the hall. A few moments later a skinny African girl arrived. She spoke in an obviously foreign accent with a few difficulties with the English grammar.

"Take this gentleman to visit Padre McGirr, then go make sure the sluice room is clean. I saw Mandy go in there with a pan full of Mr. Stanley's shit and you know what kind of damage that does to the plumbing".

The large nurse waddled off towards the staff room. Chip wondered about how it was she kept her job with such a demeanour.

"I have to give apology about Nurse Wilson, she can be most often very unpleasant to many new people".

Her words made sense, but she obviously needed to take more classes in how to apply English to daily situations.

He wheeled himself down the faded carpeted hallway towards what he hoped would be a private discussion with the Padre. He considered the sense of carpet in such a place as he started to notice a few too many different coloured stains. He didn't have long to wonder as to the origin of those stains and if his wheels would remain clean as they reached a door. The name of the Priest was written in shaky lettering on a small whiteboard next to the door. The young woman knocked and entered, she said something which Chip couldn't catch and then she left, smiling at him and indicating he could enter. The man took a deep breath and manoeuvred himself in.

Father Tobias McGirr was sitting in a large, faded looking lazy boy chair; there was a few specs of rust on the hinges that held up the footrest. The priest had well worn slippers on his long feet, one was barely hanging on. He had light grey track pants and a heavy brown woollen cardigan over a blue and red checked shirt. He bore evidence of lack of concern for his appearance as he hadn't been shaven in maybe two days and his remaining hairs were greasy and with no sign of having had been combed. His glasses were those old plastic ones, the big squares covered in smudges hiding faded green eyes. He had what looked to be scrambled egg caked on his chin and some drips of tea were soaked into his clothing. He had a mushed up biscuit or cake sitting in front of him that he was pushing around the small plate with a plastic spoon.

"Hello, Father. My name's Chip Chase, you don't know me…"

"I know you".

"That's impossible, Father, we've just met…"

"You're Chip Chase, aren't you?"

"Yeah".

"Then I know you".

"But how…"

"You just introduced yourself, so now I know you".

He seemed more quick witted then suffering from dementia, Chip mused inwardly.

"What, you think an old man can't be clever?"

The old man of the cloth looked up at him, intentionally staring over his glasses, revealing those faded green eyes.

"What can I do for you kid?"

It didn't matter how old he good, or how many greys sprouted from his head, Chip was certain he'd go to his grave still being called Kid by someone.

"Ah, you knew Ron Witwicky?"

"Sparkplug? Sure. Heard he died a few years back, very sad. His ticker, right?"

"Yeah".

"He always had trouble with that".

"So, you one of his bastard sons?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sparkplug was a whizz at picking up ladies, I, of course, tried to discourage that, but he always found himself into some girl's bed. Broke a lot of hearts".

Maybe he was demented…

"Ah… no, I'm one of Spike's friends".

"Oh, yeah, Spike. How's he doing? He still dating that blond girl… the smart one?"

"Carly?"

"Yeah, that's her name, Carly".

"They're married now".

"Really? That's great. In a catholic Church I hope?"

"Ah… it was in a garden with a protestant minister".

"Protestant? Really? In a garden? What did Spark say about that?"

"He said it was there choice".

"Oh, I bet he did".

"I didn't think Sparkplug was Catholic?"

"Oh, no, he's not, I nagged him a few times to get him to join up, but he was happy where he was, and when he met that lovely wife of his… oh, I forget her name…"

"I can't recall either, and Spike never talked about his mum".

"So what about you, Chip, you got yourself a girl?"

"Ah… not as yet".

"You not one of those guys who beds guys, are ya?"

The priest leaned and while only kidding seemed almost serious, before Chip could reply with some form of shock the Padre was racked with laugher as he lent back in his chair.

"Oh, you kids these days, even with all the gay rights and what not you still get all worked up over an unfounded accusation".

Chip baulked in his chair and breathed out heavily, rather annoyed and becoming impatient.

"Okay, okay, sorry, now, Mr. Chip Chase, what is it that has bought you here to day? Can't be to reminisce about a man who was your friend's father?"

"Actually, Padre…"

"Oh, no need to be so formal, just Toby will be fine".

"Okay, Toby, I came to ask you about some experiences that Sparkplug had that Spike told me about".

"Oh yes, what kind of… experiences?"

"Ghosts".

"Ghosts you say, how spooky like".

The priest faked a shudder and took a swig from his thickened coffee, it looked positively disgusting, but the priest seemed happy just to have the smell and taste of it, even if it was thick and gluggy, and in parts gritty where the thickener hadn't been mixed through enough to dissolve.

The priest seemed to focus for a moment and somewhere inside his aging gray matter he was making connections to find his memories and knowledge around the subject. Chip meanwhile was taking in his surrounds, trying to do it discreetly. The room was small and badly coloured. That same faded carpet existed in here, it might have been a once bright gold or perhaps an orange or maybe just a tan, but now it was really quite nasty looking, the same array of stains continued in here. The wall paper was peeling from various parts of the wall and was a pea soup kind of green with brown spots that somehow managed to resemble flowers. The curtains were a dark pink and really stood out against the wall paper. There were light flimsy nets that sat behind them, they were grubby around the edges and full of holes, and it did little to hide the filth that caked the window behind. There was his bed in the corner which was a normal bed, certainly nothing you'd find in a hospital or any reputable rest home. It was covered with a light yellow floral duvet that did little to hide that the bedding under it was poorly made, as there were large creases and bumps protruding from under. There was a bed side table with a lamp that had no shade, a small cup that was possibly for his teeth and a photo of the Sacred Heart. A rosary sat in front, and it was probably the most expensive item in the room – and certainly the most valuable to the priest. A desk sat against the wall under a mirror, it was covered with more religious icons, an image of the Immaculate Heart and a crucifix that was propped up against the wall as the stand had broken off. The closet door was broken off and the scientist could see the array of cheap and heavily worn clothing dangling inside.

"You finished taking in my life?"

The priest asked suddenly, startling Chip.

"Um… ah… sorry".

"Hahaha, its okay, I'm just Joshing ya! But it makes you think, doesn't it kid? I took a vow of poverty so this is really no shock to me, but there are people in this place who spent their whole lives in the pursuit of wealth, who came from giant homes with cooks and butlers and things no man could ever really need and then through their own bad actions or just bad luck they end up here. And they've got to fit what's ever left of the life into one, small room".

The padre took a spoon of the mashed biscuit.

"What about you, son, what do you pursue?"

"The truth".

Chip said without hesitation.

"The truth, you say? There's a whole book dedicated to it in that desk draw over that way".

Chip reached over and opened it, it was the bible.

"Um… okay".

"Haha, you're an easy mark, son!"

The certainly not demented priest replied good naturedly, with absolutely no intention of trying to convert his visitor.

"So… ghosts. And you're after the truth?"

Toby wriggled his toes in his loose slippers and Chip became aware of one such toe poking out the tip of the left one.

"Now, you do know, that the word ghost and truth might not really go well together, I'm sure there's some people who could say there are scientific explanations for what I've experienced for what I've seen and they will slap me into a straight jacket and dump me in some windowless cell to rant and rave till I pass out from effort. You need to understand, Chip, that when talking about ghosts or any of those big subjects, that the truth may be there, but people may not want to acknowledge it. What's true for me is not true for you and you won't want to view my truth as truth because it will contradict your truth. And I'd wager that for a man who's pursuit is the truth, to have something that contradicts what you think is truth, might make you angry to realise you have the wrong truth – which will make you start wondering about all the things in your life you class as truth".

The Padre could certainly talk.

"What I'm trying to say to you kid, is you have to take what I say on the subject with a _pound_ of salt, you might not want to hear it, it might make you feel uneasy about what you have based your life on, and that's okay, that's normal, but if you're truthfully after truth, then you must acknowledge you could be focussing on the wrong truth".

Toby reached into the slightly ripped pocket on his cardie and took out a hankie; he blew his nose, which sounded like a fog horn. He flicked the scrunched up snot rag on to his table and the corner of it flopped mindlessly into a smear of biscuit that sat on the table.

"See, it wasn't that long ago that people thought the world was flat – that was their truth, and then some guy decided that it wasn't truth and he decided to test it. He proved it. So then you have all these people who didn't sail around the globe, so to have someone who has tell them that he did and he didn't drop off into space, well, that's hard to take. They have to believe what he is saying, his experience, is truth, when they don't' have the experience to understand that as truth. But then soon some of them would have got on a ship and sailed over the horizon and lo and behold they're still alive and not floating in space. They now have the experience; they can now change their truth. Truth is fluid. It doesn't just stay still, it moves around us. There's only one constant Truth, one always solid, always steady, unwavering Truth, and that would be God, and since God is Truth, you seek God without even knowing it. But you're not here to talk about God; you're here to talk about truth and ghosts. Now, I see you as the guy I'm trying to tell I sailed around the world and didn't fall off, your truth is you know the world is flat, that's your truth, my truth is based on experience which says it isn't flat. Ghost for me are truth, but you may not have that experience so it may not be your truth, so in fact, ghosts may be a figment of over active, aged imaginations and that for you, is truth, for you, I'm wrong, and that's your truth".

He was certainly a smart man, Chip wondered if his intelligence and understanding came with age or had simply always existed. Would Chip end up like this gentlemen in 40 years or so? Would the nursing staff who would care for him when he was shitting into a bag or drinking sloppy biscuits think he was demented because they didn't understand his truth or his knowledge? It was a sad thought, really.

"So, you want to know my truth of ghosts?"

"Yeah".

"I know Sparkplug told Spike a thing or two about what he's seen, about _his _truth?"

"Yeah".

"Did he tell Spike the story about how he chased some dead guy into the forest after a village raid?"

"Yeah, and Spike told me, its certainly…"

"Unbelievable?"

"That's one way of phrasing it".

"Its truth to Sparkplug but not to many others".

The priest replied rather stoically.

"You got any specific query or you more after a broader consideration?"

"Actually, I have to confess to you Father, I have seen things recently that science can't explain. I seek the truth, and so far in my life the truth has said ghosts do not exist. But I experienced what many would give the term of "ghost" to. So now my truth is being challenged. I just want to know what other people, to people who ghosts are a "truth" for would class the experience as, or why it's happening".

"I see".

The priest nodded as he looked down at his table momentarily.

"What I really would like to know, Padre, is why is this happening? If the experiences are caused by ghosts then why are the ghosts doing it?"

The priest looked up at the scientist for a moment and studied the expression on his face.

"And its not just been me who's experienced things, there's a friend of mine, and his seek for truth is just as scientifically minded as mine, and he's at a total loss, and when he's at a loss, it says a lot".

The Padre laughed quietly, more to himself, and certainly not in a way that was meant as an insult.

"Alright, there a few general thoughts out there about "ghosts" or their nature. From the Christian perspective there's no dead people floating about, when you dead you either go to Heaven or Hell, instead, ghosts of people are merely demons taking their form, the reason they know things, like their kid's name or where they died, when "speaking" through those medium con artists, its because the demon was a familiar spirit, so they know a few things about the person and can relay that through to the living. Now, we can get into a big theological debate as to why a demon would do this, but that's not your interest".

He cleared his throat.

"There's another more science minded thought, where energy is used to explain these "ghosts". Basically, energy can't be destroyed; it can only be dispersed or reformed. Sometimes if a violent act like a rape, or someone dies a horrid death in a place their "brain energy" or "psychic" energy or just energy is dispersed and imprinted into that location, so some people will report hearing screaming or banging or get the feeling that there's something really nasty there. Sometimes that energy can start to fade as it seeps out and then one day its gone, or people can push it outwards. Essentially it dilutes. If you have a spoon of red colour and you put it in a spoon of water you'll have very red water, if you put it in a glass of water it'll be noticeable absolutely, or if you put it in a bathtub you might just see a tinge, or if you put in the ocean you won't see anything".

He stirred his now cool coffee sludge. It had thickened to something that looked like a brick.

"There's still a spoon of red, its just in so much water its hard to see it, and so some will say "oh, I can't see the red, that means there was never red". But they're wrong, that's not truth, but its _their _truth".

Chip nodded.

"Another train of thought is that it is a dead person's spirit, and you tend to find this mindset in more Paganistic or primiative religions. And that's their truth. In that mindset the ghost hangs around because either they want to make sure their family and friends are okay, or they've got unfinished business or for some reason they can't "cross over", its all about experience and what a person's truth is regarding how they interpret it".

"So".

Chip asked.

"What do you believe? What's your truth?"

"My truth is that its probably not as black and white as some mean spirited devil, my truth is that its probably all of those situations. Every situation is different. As a priest I can tell you my truth is there are demons that do this sort of thing, I've always been in situations where its probably the energy dispersed by an event, and there are also been situations I've been involved in where it was a dead person after unfinished business".

"Do you have some examples?"

Chip asked.

"Sure, sure, I won't bore you with the demon experiences since I don't think that's what you're after, but I once came into a house of a woman who said she kept hearing screams and banging and had the terrible feeling that someone was in there watching her and meant her harm. The house was new and an extensive geographical history proved nothing, no ancient Apache burial ground, no hobo grave yard or some old house where a cat lady died surrounded in one big health hazard that had to be flattened. However, what we discovered, was during the construction of the house, a group of frat boys raped a girl in the house before it was completed. Now, she didn't die, but it was a horrific event – that is an example of the violent event creating a negative energy that bonds to a physical object. In those situations there's really not much you can do but pray to God that He removes it, or just try and wait it out. Once she knew what it was, that it would disperse, she was able to tolerate it and eventually, ten years later, she reported no experiences".

"Wow".

Chip responded.

"Now with unfinished business, that can be anything from the person being unable to let go of something or having not completed something. One experience was a woman who had tried to have a child for years, who had spent three or four fortunes on IVF and even had tried adopting from China and Russia and even tried buying kids on the black market, she was still childless".

"And she started haunting a children's hospital?"

"No, no, let me finish kid, seesh".

The priest held up his aged hand, Chip noticed a few gouty nodules.

"Now, this woman, I never met her in person, I was told this all by her sister, she finally got pregnant, and it was indeed a miracle, because the reason she was going for IVF and adoption and all of those things was due to some kind of women's illness down there, I forget which, but she was about 39 and her boss came to her and said here's this great new job opportunity and you need to go to our London office, or it might have been Paris, I'm an old man, you must forgive my memory. Anyhow, she basically had to spend the next few years of her life jet setting for this great job she'd always wanted, but now she was pregnant and that kid was one great big road block to her job. So, she had an abortion, and how tragic there was some horrid complication and she had to have an emergency hysterectomy, but it didn't help, she spent the next week dying in hospital from an infection. The whole time she wept over how she had the child she had always wanted but threw them away for a job that she wasn't going to be able to enjoy. She never came to terms with it and so when she died, she started haunting her former work place. I came to this experience when a parishioner told me her son worked there and that all these things were happening that were creepy and unexplained. Things like important documents going missing and computers failing an oftentimes a crying woman could be heard in the toilet – she miscarried multiple IVF pregnancies in that bathroom. Not to mention, photos of employees' children and babies would disappear and be found in the bathroom or would fall off desks without any physical interference. Also, when I went to investigate at the hospital where she died, several staff told me of seeing a figure walking through the newborn unit leaning over the babies. But her range of haunting didn't stop there, I have it on good authority that the clinic where her abortion was done, well, a former employee told me that she'd often see a woman standing at the gate looking very sad indeed, and it didn't take the woman long to realise it wasn't a living woman, but she noticed one day this woman was trying to stop other patients coming in – of course not a lot a non-physical form can do to stop a physical one. Now, obviously, that woman had a lot of "unfinished" business. What we did was we organised an event with her closest friends and family and we went to her grave and placed "congratulations on your new arrival" and threw her a baby shower. We hoped our actions would reunite her with her aborted child in the afterlife, we even had a birth certificate with the name she had always wanted to give a child placed on it, of course, it wasn't legal. The other thing we did was have the child's name engraved into her headstone. And it worked. After that the woman's spirit was never seen again, by any of the sources".

The Padre sighed and looked at Chip to see if he was still following or had fobbed him off the moment he started talking about the dreaded and oh so controversial "A" word. The young scientist was still intently focussed though.

"Now, sometimes, the person's spirit isn't so intent on something so sad and tragic, rather an object, like a child. There are many children's' ghosts who hang around for a toy or comforter like a blanket. I've had an experience where a small child was hit and killed by a car that lost control on the road outside his house. He would always carry around this scruffy looking toy dog with floppy ears. And the day he was killed it was taken to the hospital with him and somewhere in the facility it was misplaced. The child would often be seen at his house searching his bedroom and even hospital employees would say they saw that boy. Now, the parents moved away right after as the mother couldn't bare the pain of being so close to where her son had been, all those memories were too much. It was the new owners who would see the child and 20 years later, the father of the child started to talk some more and it was discovered about this toy. Long story short, they found the toy in some dirty pile of boxes down in the hospital basement, it was mouldy and soggy and for all intents and purposes it should have been thrown in the nearest landfill. But the staff member, who found it, saw it still had the name of the child on it, he did a computer search, found the child was dead, found the parents and sent them the toy. They then placed it at the gravesite and lo and behold, the child was never seen again".

Chip was really not sure how to reply and after sitting there in silence looking at the creases in his hands for a few moments, he realised the Padre was asleep.

He scribbled a note on the large white board on the door that said "Why you were out I visited and…"

Chip then left the rest home.

He clambered himself into his car and put the key into the ignition.

"Did you obtain logically astute and scientifically viable information?"

Perceptor sat in microscope mode on the front passenger seat.

"Yeah".

The man pulled out of the car park and began the journey back to the city.

"Its just a hell of a lot to take in, Percy".

--

**Author's NB: ** I've heard ghost stories like those I've described and they are creepy as stink. I can tell you, in my job I get to see all sorts of things and the spiritual aspect of life is included. Anyway, I actually started this chapter thinking it'd be a short chat between Chip and a crazy old priest but then the whole concept of Truth developed and lo and behold it wound out as ten pages. Eeep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

**21****st**** December**

**1200hrs**

Shift change.

It wasn't exactly the most glamorous duty available currently, sitting in front of a monitor watching that yellow narcissistic pile of metal scream and holler and generally just make a nuisance of himself in a small cell. At least he got to sit though, that was a plus, and it certainly wasn't strenuous activity, its probably why he got assigned this task.

The small mech, of some form of pinkish orange colouring, lent back in the chair, flicked his feet up on the panel and changed one of the channels to something dedicated to the fleshlings' young. There were a group of well groomed immature human males dancing, it sounded terrible really, the term "Jonas brothers" flashed across the bottom of the screen and it certainly was something he was interested in watching.

Sunstreaker's screaming floated to his audios through the small speaker and the minibot just switched off the sound, he did the same for the one that monitored the other twin. There wasn't too much trouble they could get up to in such small cells, locked, and padded. He turned his attention to the youthful and badly sung shenanigans the human males were getting into.

The doors swished open but Wheelie maintained his concentration on the monitors – even if it was displaying what he was supposed to be focused on. The doors swished again and he accepted that whoever had entered had left again without speaking or perhaps it was someone who had walked into the wrong room. Primus knew, Wheelie had done that enough times. It swished again and he gave consideration that perhaps they had come back in… maybe they'd realised he wasn't paying attention enough to his post and they were going to give him an audio fill? Wheelie kept his optics on the screen and stared intently at it as he felt as though another's optics were upon him. He tried to ignore it, pretend he hadn't noticed, but it was rather oppressive. He inwardly cringed and wondered how long they were going to stand there behind him, watching. The minibot contemplated saying something but what if it was one of the officers! Uh oh… what if they were going to shred him out for not being alert enough to be aware that someone was there. He spun around slowly on his chair and intended to publicise his awareness. Instead, he found the room empty and the doors still opened.

That was odd.

He stood up and walked slowly towards the opening. The doors had a sensor that monitored an area around it and if one walked into that range the doors opened, once someone was out of that range it was shut. But he was not in range, and no one could be seen in the hall way that would be triggering the door. Of course, it was probably a glitch, an irritating, interrupting glitch. He knew nothing about fixing such glitches and so thought better of attempting it. Of course, the problem now was any passerby could see him not watching those mean old twins. Wheelie reached out to touch the control panel and before his metallic phalange could press the red button the door swished shut, well, more to the point it slammed shut, the metal making a rather unnatural clanging sound. It was usually muffled, such force damaging to the internal turn belt. The little bot many considered a prat shrugged and turned back to the panel and his Jonas brothers antics.

The doors continued to swish open then shut violently, Wheelie just ignored it, and connected his audios directly via a wireless method unknown to human science – it worked essentially as head phones so the swishing of the doors would not interrupt his puerile entertainment. The eldest brother was dancing on a table in a tutu after ingesting something the younger one had cooked and laced with large amounts of sucrose. Wheelie giggled and then received a good slap in the back of the head.

He spun around immediately, his hand going up to the back of his head to cradle at the injury that showed no outward sign of irritant. It hurt, that much was true. There was no one there. That was also true. Wheelie stood and looked around the room, his hand still on the back of his head. He groaned and uttered a few Cybertronian curse words that he strung together in his usual rhyming tone. There certainly wasn't any evidence of anyone having been there. There were Autobots that could make themselves invisible, but weren't they dead? He didn't know their fate. Perhaps it was a prank. Perhaps it was a Decepticon? Perhaps it was his imagination. He shrugged his shoulders and began to turn back to see the youngest Jonas brother engaged in an over fuelling contest, as he did so, the small minibot found himself flying through the air towards the screen.

He was not capable of flight.

He smashed head first into the glass panelling and the force that propelled him continued to force him further into the inner components of the computer that monitored the twins. He could feel the twisting metal gorge into his plating; the wriggling wires scratch his delicate optics, the electrical currents that made their passage through those wires conducted over his form interrupting his own electronic processes. They started to pulse, and his sensors made him acutely aware they were increasing in their voltage. To anyone else in audio shot they would have heard a tremendous crack; their optics would have picked up the flickering of lights and equipment before everything went dead. Including the small minibot who's body now protruded from the consol.

--

**1330hrs.**

"It'd be enough to short ole Vector. Perceptor said it'd take someone of some over compensated amount of brains to be able to by pass all the safeties to get the power to that level".

The old timer stood there watching as two other, essentially nameless mechs removed the fried chassis.

"O' course he'll know more after the post-off lining. Yet, its kinda creepy, Lad, to have someone creeping through Autobot City doing things like this… weren't no accident, I'll give you that much!"

Kup crossed his arms over his chest as the contorted shell was finally removed and laid on the portable berth.

"Ooh…"

Kup looked away.

"That ain't no way for a 'bot to go, Magnus".

The look etched into Wheelie's faceplates was one that evidenced both surprise and complete and utter affliction of fear.

"What in the name of Primus put a look like that on the boy's face plates?"

Kup whispered as the two nameless mechs covered his mortal remains.

"You're in charge of this investigation".

Magnus said suddenly. He'd remained quiet during most of the briefing and all of Kup's ramblings, the old mech was basically saying what everyone else was thinking, added to which was a few old stories and mixed clichés.

"How you want us to go about this? Do you want it public?"

"Absolutely not. No need to start fear mongering. There were plenty of Decepticons on our property not that long ago; there could be still be one lingering about. He could have done this on purpose or was startled by…"

Magnus couldn't recall the minibot's name and so ended his statement. Kup didn't point it out. The body was removed from the room and their sights, but the look in those blackened optics and the way his lip components curved themselves into a warped shape resembling a black hole was… well… _creepy, _it'd haunt him to the day his CPU fired its last signal off, his consciousness disappearing into the Matrix.

"Use your discernment Kup, and use whoever you feel necessary to assist in locating the source of this incident. It could prove to be an entirely scientifically proven accident, or perhaps this is a result of blatant stupidity".

Magnus gave the remains of the consol one last glance before turning and walking out those once malfunctioning doors.

"And see it to the prisoners are continually monitored from another local, just because this room is non-functional does not mean our duty of watch is voided".

The city commander said as he disappeared out into the hall, his heavy footsteps eventually dying away into silence the further he tracked from Kup's audio range.

Kup was alone in the room.

It felt eerie, and the pool of dried energon dripping from and surrounding the consol's newest feature didn't help. It was odd to think such an event could be an accident, or even something resulting from childish antics. Regardless, he'd get to the bottom of it.

He felt as if he was being watched as he walked to the door. He stood there for a moment, searched the room with his aged optics and sighed.

Something was going on, and it sure as the Pit was hot, had nothing to do with wayward Decepticons.

-

**Author's NB: **I hate Wheelie. I detest him. Somewhere on Lexicon is an essay I wrote about him years ago about how much of a little arse he is. And I feel aggrieved that I had to put up with his story (which didn't make him cool) polluting the Spotlight volume I got the other day.

I don't buy singles.

Seriously, I'd rather be stuck on a desert island with second degree burns, eyeball herpes (which you don't want), head lice and no one but Jar Jar Binks, Scrappy Doo, Elmo, the manager from "Office Space" and those damn Twins Skids and Mudflap to keep me company then put up with noting a picture of Wheelie.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**1538 hrs**

First Aid could be a nag when he wanted to be, and he obviously wanted to be as Chip now found himself sitting in the human cafeteria, well, one of them, staring down at a luke warm cup of weak coffee and a slice of bacon and egg pie which was looking rather spurious. A heaping of pepper and a healthy amount of salt was subsequently dumped on the unappealing dish. But First Aid had started ranting about how the small human hadn't appeared to fuel in a while and proper organic function needed at least five small meals a day with adequate hydration. Chip made a cheeky remark about how little he had to eat when his legs didn't work… where did he pick that up from? He wondered as he pushed the fork into the yellow and red specked triangle, ah, yes, Family Guy. He tried to recall the episode but failed. He'd have to ask Jazz when he saw him next, that guy was a wealth of knowledge about the quirks of human culture.

After three bites of the pie, which he forced down into the pit of his stomach, a young man approached, he was donned in the usual uniform of an EDC security officer. He sat down without asking and clasping his hands in front of him leaned forward and whispered to Chip:

"I hear you're investigating hauntings… here… at Autobot city".

His voice was harsh and if it wasn't for the fact that Chip could read lips, (from an incident where a Decepticon explosion rendered him deaf for six months) the man in the wheelchair wouldn't have figured out what the guy was getting at.

"Ah… who told you that?"

"It's a rumour. Rumours do the rounds. I want to know if there's any truth to the rumour".

He sounded like a human Magnus, but the kid was obviously unsettled by something and was trying to hide that concern.

Chip put his fork down and leant back slightly; looking the young chap in the eyes and inwardly musing if this was some kind of joke or ruse. But was glad none the less to have something take him away from the eggy abortion that sat on his plate.

"Look, I'm not kidding, okay, I just wanna help…"

Chip raised an eyebrow as the young man placed his hands, palms down, on the sticky table. He left them there for a moment, his right index finger moved slightly as the sensation of poor café hygiene made its self known.

"See, when I was at uni, I used to belong to a ghost hunters club, and while I don't do that any more I do have friends who have a very good business going on. They have all the equipment and stuff you could need, even access to "sensitive" people. Here's their card, just consider it, please".

The guy pulled a small card from his pocket and placed it on the sticky table in front of Chip's bacon and egg pie. The scientist sighed softly and picked up the card.

"There's a lot of talk doing the rounds, a lot of people are a bit worried, and those that say they aren't are full of it. I've seen things on my patrols that I shouldn't be seeing and I bet all the brainy Autobots would have trouble trying to figure it all out with their tests and science".

"What kinds of things?"

Chip asked, inquiring about what the young security officer had seen.

"Just strange things. Like I'll go into my office sit down, do some work, then go to the bathroom, when I come back, my chair will be sitting on my desk – but no one or nothing is around. Or when I got locked in the toilet, but you can only lock the door from the inside! Or I tried to have a nap once and I kept hearing scratching and I couldn't see anything or find anything. I see figures to, people, running along corridors out of the corner of my eye or looking at me from windows in buildings that are condemned or abandoned or secure. Like the Williams' building, I see those things all the time. So do others!"

Williams was a building that had provided humans with offices and accommodation, during the battle it was badly damaged and a fire tore through, over 200 people were burned alive or killed by the heat and smoke. It was off limits and was next to impossible to get into. What was subsequently creepier was that the stair wells had been made of wood, and they'd burnt to a crisp, you couldn't get to the higher levels, so to hear of images of people staring out…

The man many referred to as a cripple considered these words and was silent for a moment, wondering.

"When did all this start happening?"

"Well, I saw my fair share of ghostly shenanigans in that club, but here, on site, not long, I was away during the big battle they had a few months back and I only returned three weeks ago, since then I've been seeing the stuff. So have others".

"What others?"

"Jerry for one, he doesn't mind if you know it's him or if you ask him. But most of them don't want to be known as having seen spooks, they're worried they'll loose their jobs or end up in the loony bin".

"What's Jerry seen?"

Chip didn't have any idea who Jerry was.

"Same as me, figures looking at him from Williams. Jerry used to work in there, but after the place got trashed they moved its operations over to Woodrow, he said he works late and oftentimes has to go passed Williams to get to his car. He also said he's seen things "floating" about Woodrow. I've got a feeling from talking to him there's more going on but he hasn't given me any more information".

Chip flicked the corner of the card with his index finger and gave another few moments of silence to his inner thoughts.

"Okay".

He said after a few more moments.

**1945hrs**

It was another late night. Overtime paid well, of course, but sometimes it was rather impinging on his outside life. His wife was both happy and annoyed, she liked the money he bought home, but she missed his company. Jerry Meeson picked up a large stack of paper and began to thumb through it, mumbling an irritated string of profanities as he attempted to find what he was after. He found it, placed it to the side, put the stack in front of him and began to scribble down writing on a blank page.

The lights went out.

Jerry thought nothing of it given the amount of reconstruction that was taking place and the many, many times someone cut something they shouldn't, drop something they shouldn't or even just stand somewhere they shouldn't. It was a common occurrence.

He sat in the dark and yawned, well, if there was ever a hint to go home, this was it. He gathered up his necessary papers and bundled them into his briefcase under the illumination of an outside source, it could have been a few street lights or perhaps the moon, he didn't know and didn't care. He stood then pawed for his cell, odd, he thought that it was off as it was always on. He picked it up and held down the on switch, but it didn't obey. Its screen remained dark.

"Bloody piece of shit".

He grumbled as he dropped it into his bag and then grabbed up his wallet. Pushing the seat under his desk he manoeuvred his way out and walked to the door, hoping the elevators were still operating because the thought of walking down 20 flights of stairs wasn't appealing, certainly not in the dark. He tripped, his briefcase spilling its neatly placed contents all over the floor, his cell skidded under a file cabinet where it knocked to a stop against the wall.

"Son of a bitch".

He growled into the carpet his face was rubbing against. Slowly he managed to push himself up on to his knees, in the dim lighting he started to gather his papers, again. It took a few minutes and did not involve him attempting to recover his cell. If it wasn't turning on there was no point trying to fish it out from under that thing in the dark he mused as he stood. He hadn't even taken half a step when he was face planted on the rough carpet again.

"What the hell?

He asked as he twisted at his lumbar spine to try and see who it was behind him who had pushed him.

"Who's there?"

His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, he was not impressed and he zero to naught patience for such antics. Something struck his hands, the briefcase still clasped in his right when flickering into the wall where all the papers spewed out and into the office. They started to float about; at first the man thought it was just a natural, scientifically explained occurrence that they were simply under the control of gravity and the breeze coming from the air con. Instead, those thoughts were replaced with a chilled sort of terror as they started to spin about a particular axis in the space in front of him. They formed a funnel much like a tornado, he was able to tell this as the lights began to flicker on and off, his cell phone went off, and every electronic in the room stirred to life. The photocopier started throwing out paper, the fax machine followed suit. The computer started repeating the same irritating start up chime. It was unsettling and it was something Jerry wasn't going to tolerate. He stood quickly, forgetting any of his work requirements and ran for the door, he reached it and found he was unable to get it open. The light that indicated whether the door was locked or not began flicking colours it had no business flicking. Its choices were either red or green, not blue, pink, yellow or black… Jerry lost any control of himself and began banging on the door, screaming to be let out, the papers increasing in speed behind them as they howled around the office.

"Oh GOD!"

He squealed like a little girl as he turned to glance at the debacle that was taking place. He ran to the side door that served as an emergency exit, he managed to get that door open and ran into the hall way. The papers followed him where they started to merge into one giant ball of paper, at that point, he made the mistake of looking back, the huge ball, which was now sitting a top a body type structure slammed him to the ground. He descended into the dark that was his unconscious.

**2015hrs**

Chocolate.

Good thing Aid wasn't around, if he saw the man ploughing through the king sized block of double chocolate and cookies he probably wouldn't be impressed. Especially after the young scientists had given the medic a rather descriptive menu of what he had devoured at the café – all bald faced lies, of course, he had not had a Caesar salad with a medium done sirloin, a serving of winter vegetables and a non-fat soy latte.

The chocolate was good, it was tasty and certainly something he was enjoying, and it was far superior then any rubbish the café could provide. He took another three squares and popped them in his mouth, slowly sucking the chocolate down until he had the biscuit chunks which he could then enjoy and enjoy them he would. He reached over to his computer's mouse and was about to click a link to his email account when somewhere from deep within the facility there was an explosion.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

**21****st**** December**

**2010hrs**

The voices niggled at him.

They were his constant companion in the cold dark cell he resided within.

They were cruel and merciless and afforded him not a moment of respite.

He hated them.

But with that said, or rather unsaid, he didn't know who they were.

_How can you hate us if you don't know us?_

I hate the Decepticons, and half of them I don't know.

_You hate the Decepticons you don't know not based on your knowledge of them, but rather that purple face they pass off as an insignia._

And why should you care if I hate the 'cons or not?

_You bought it up. You cannot expect a logical response from us if you yourself will not endevour to construct one._

How about I construct my foot up your aft?

_You're welcome to try._

Who are you?

_Will it make it easier for you to hate us if you know who we are?_

Shut up.

_Good comeback. I can see how you made it into the Autobot ranks. Why haven't you been recommended for officer training yet?_

Shut the hell up.

_Oh, you are such a classy individual. Does it win you attention with the femmes? Does it make the Brass respect you and the value the role you play? Does it make your brother proud of you? Truth is, you're nothing, are you? Well, I suppose cannon fodder is something. That's what you are, isn't it? Cannon fodder. You're just another target for those Decepticons, and you can guarantee that Megatron wouldn't lock up his troops like they locked up you._

Megatron is dead.

_He is, isn't he? But that doesn't change the fact that he'd never lock his mechs up, he'd turn them loose on the Autobots… on you and your brother and your idiot little friends._

And what if he does?

_What I'm trying to get you to lay optics upon, _solider, _is that it was only ever Prowl who locked you up, and Optimus only let him do that if you weren't needed._

Prowl is dead. Optimus is dead.

_That's right, they are, and they're not even cold in their tombs, not even a spec of rust on their chassis and already look where you and your brother are. Locked up in this cell while their scientists try and figure out what's wrong with you._

Shut up.

_Perceptor. That bastard. He was always jealous of you, you know. His intelligence doesn't win femmes, well, not Autobot ones at least. They're interested in might, in power, in warriors, not cowards who hide behind petri dishes and data pads._

So what? Percey can't get 'faced. BFD.

_Haha. You see, that's my point. He can't get faced, but when was the last time you got some?_

A few weeks back.

_With that cheap whore bot from the TillianQn's system? I'm sure you've had more and more recently, you just can't recall… can you?_

I don't care.

_Yes you do. It's the highest complement in your twisted vain opinion. When some cheap piece of tin wants to grind your gears. And look where you are now, locked in the brig, people thinking you're insane, you think that's going to win you some ports when you get of out here? You think those harlot bots are going to want to berth you when you get back out there?_

Shut up.

_Is that the most you can reply with? Shut up? When are you going to realise it? You're worthless! You're just cannon fodder! Optimus didn't care for you, he used you as a grunt, you got the job done, but now in comes Rodimus and Magnus and Kup and Springer with all their ideas and war experience and they have other grunts and they're better at their job then you and they will be utilised more, and you, you and your equally worthless brother will have your CPUs strip mined and you'll be left to rust alive in these places._

Oh, why won't you shut the hell up?

_Don't you want to hear the truth? To know the reality of it all? The reality that the guard has changed and you don't have a place any more? Rodimus and Magnus and Kup and Springer and Blurr and all of those happy new face plates, they all had four million years more experience then you! You slept through the most turbulent part of the war and now you're paying for it!_

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

_Can't handle the truth. Fine. I was just trying to help you see the reality of it all, but if you want to wallow here in ignorance, fine, so be it._

Silence.

The voice was gone for a moment.

_WORTHLESS PIECE OF SCRAP!_

It suddenly screamed at him from within his very audios. Sunstreaker jumped up with a rage he seldom felt when not on the battlefield and tore through the straps that held him, he couldn't' even remember when such bonds had been applied to him, probably during his last tantrum. He rushed at the door and began pounding and tearing and screaming, a lubricant similar to spit flicked out in small blobs as he continued at the door, roaring with a rage so primordial it would send shudders down the linkage column of any harden Decepticon. His metallic fingers managed to make contact with a small imperfection in the wall and he was able to dig into it, tearing, pulling, yanking, part of the panelling came away. His hands balled into fists and he started to hammer at the internal mechanisms that controlled the release for the ball.

He struck something he shouldn't have and that something exploded.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's NB: **Whoops, I made a mistake and put a different chapter in place of 19, but I caught the boo boo quick enough and changed it. If you noticed it, go back and read 19 again cos now chapter 19 is chapter 19 and not chapter 9 like I think it was for about 5 minutes. But FF lags sometimes so it might have taken 30 minutes to sort its shit out.

--

**Chapter Twenty**

**21****st**** December**

**2017hrs**

He'd been thrown back from the source of the explosion and impacted violently against the spongy wall and thus, knocked out for a few of the human minutes. When he regained awareness he was slumped up against the wall, an unpleasant ache in his head and a burning sensation on his front. Looking down, he wished he hadn't, noticing the singed, peeling flakes that had once been his front finish. He growled out a string of profanities in his native tongue and then simply pushed himself up and examined the hole in the wall that he'd be responsible for. The once nicely yellowed mech climbed out the hole and into the corridor.

BANG BANG BANG!

Given his recent experiences, it caused him to jump, and a squeal actually passed his lip components, something he realised suddenly was actually very embarrassing and hoped no one was around to hear.

"HEY! LET ME OUTTA HERE!"

The banging continued and was punctuated by the yells from his brother.

"Sides?"

He called out.

"YO! Sunny, get me out, bro!"

"Okay! Hang on Sides!"

Sunstreaker forgot his current aesthetic condition and ran over to the cell his brother was languishing in. He banged on the door a few times until he noticed the control panel and decided to try it the easy way. He punched in a security code he'd once seen on Prowl's desk and was surprised that it worked. The door swished open and his brother sprawled out into his arms as he was in the middle of another door whack. The two clanged to the floor and looked at each other, their optics wide with surprise and relief that they were free.

"We better get the Pit out of here, bro".

Sideswipe said as he climbed off the blackened yellow twin.

The red twin reached the door leading out of the brig's corridor and suddenly he was given a swift whack to the back of the head.

"Hey!"

He spun around and glared at his twin.

"What the Pit bro, what the pit??"

"What are you talking about you ninny?"

"Why did you hit me?"

"You think I have time to hit you?"

"Well who the hell else would?"

"If you don't get your aft through that door I'll hit you!"

Sunstreaker growled irritably. Sideswipe gave him a rather evil glance and turned back to attempting to get the door open.

He received a kick in the backside.

"HEY!!"

Sideswipe spun around and smacked his brother in the face with a hit that was more akin to a slap.

"You slapped me? Why did you slap me! Only femmes slap!"

Sunstreaker bellowed in a rather stunned tone.

"Well, you kicked me in the aft!"

"The Pit I did!"

"Well, who the fuck would kick me?"

"Maybe you farted so loud that vibrated the air around you that it felt like a kick!"

"Only fleshies fart!"

"Oh, so you're saying you're a fleshy now?"

"NO! I'M SAYING YOU KICKED ME!"

Sideswipe screamed.

Sunstreaker then punched his twin square in the face plates, the force knocking him back into the door he was attempting to open, which, strangely, without interference of the control panel, it did. The red twin sprawled out into the corridor, sliding along a few metres before coming to a halt.

"Get up, numb nuts; we don't have time for your paranoia".

_Of course, you know its _not _paranoia, don't you?_

"Shut up".

He whispered under his breath, his twin caught the fact he had spoken, but unable to identify what had been mentioned.

"Let's go, let's just get the hell out of here".

Sunstreaker reached down and pulled his twin up by the shoulder.

**2030hrs**

It was quite a good fluke of luck that their escape had been so relatively easy. There was no throng of guards, no lock down, no surly Magnus standing there with his firm vocals barking out orders of cessation. But it was a creepy situation to be in none the less. The halls seemed so empty and quiet, and it didn't take long to escape the stench of the smoke and the sounds of the flames burning slowly through the strong metal.

"So… ah… Sunny?"

Sideswipe wasn't sure if this was the time or the place, or even if it was sane enough to ask.

"What the hell was that?"

He wasn't talking about the slap to the back of the head, or the kick to the aft, and Sunstreaker knew that.

"Not now".

He grumbled as he led the way along the long tapering corridor towards a rarely used exit that he and a few others knew.

"Well, we gotta have the conversation, Suns, for Primus' sake, I've seen some creepy stuff, you had a total tanty*, we got locked up down here like 'con POW, that _nurse _First Aid gave us the "how are you feeling?" crap and that great big geek bot Percy was all over us like flyborgs on shit. Something the hell is going totally FUBAR!"

Sunstreaker ignored his brother and actually hastened his pace.

"SUNSTREAKER!!"

He stood there and squealed.

His twin ignored him.

"Right, you've left me no choice, three… two… assuming position… ONE".

He dropped to the ground and began to make a howling noise similar to what a cat might make if their tail was caught in the mouth of a dog that was covered in killer bees.

"Oh for frag's sake, now who's having the tanty?!"

Sunstreaker stood over his brother and put his singed hands on his hips.

"Works for Danny".

"Danny is an immature blob offspring belonging to corrupt and biologically inferior species that not only sheds their little skin cells all over my upholstery but has a…"

He went silent for a moment and turned to look behind him from where he thought something had rattled.

Sideswipe was about to make a comment until he too was aware of it and sat himself up.

And then they saw.

They turned.

They ran.

Screaming.

The thing that took to their pursuit was something they'd never seen before, something that had not tormented them prior and had certainly not existed in even their worst nightmares. It was pitch black and its very nature seemed to pull every speck of light that dare exist near it. It had a vaguely familiar form of arms and its torso passed down into a twisted mangled mess that could have been legs, almost as if it wore a long dress. Its eyes, well, they were two large red dots that sat within the black sphere that passed as its head. Its entire form, its entire body, everything about it was cold, chilling and frankly, quite evil. They glowed brightly, but with no life, no hope and certainly no concern for anything other then its twisted mutated self. It tore down the hallway towards them, a scream so ethereal and disjointed that it would reduce even the most staunchest of mechs to their knees to weep with a self pity and fear so deep that it could only have been sourced from the spark as it fractured with terror.

It easily made up the ground between itself and the two mechs, still screaming. Sideswipe made the mistake of having to be looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time and he saw deep into its soulless eyes, seeing deep into a pit of darkness that was nothing but a tormented hell. He could feel a part of him being pulled into it. Sunstreaker, had tripped and fallen just as it passed over them, and even though he was face into the floor he felt it. He felt its bitter presence caress him; it was a repugnant and selfish touch, more akin to what a rapist would dish out upon a weeping femme as he used her for his own pleasure. The icy chill it left upon the golden twin was drenched with a resent few living could express.

Expanding, it engulfed them, it seemed to suck all the life from the air around them, but they remained living, it seemed to suck the very warmth from the air around them, but they remained at an even internal body temperature, it seemed to suck from the air around them every hope, every dream, every memory they held, yet they maintained the events within their minds that made them who they were. It was an absolutely violating sensation, one which no matter how long their cycles continued, they would never forget.

Somewhere in their sparks, and while they would never admit to it, they felt all hope and joy leave them, and in its place, a desolation filled their souls. Sideswipe dropped to his knees, curling his form into a foetal position and he wept, he openly wept, with no concern for whatever his brother might think of this sudden wimpy outburst. But Sunstreaker, he continued to lie face down and placing his hands over the back of his head he shuddered before he did something he hadn't done since their creator had pushed it on him, he prayed. Sunstreaker was not a fan of Primus, and certainly not one who adhered to any faith that placed Primus at the top rung. Sunstreaker, was by and by, an atheist, so for him to pray, well… it was bad.

The creature of whatever form and whatever origin left them, but not before it relished in their despair, its final gift, for the time being at least, was a physical alignment that had them languishing on the cold floor, both now weeping like little girls.

--

* Tanty – Tantrum.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

**21****st**** December**

**2250hrs**

He was on a planet.

Three suns, six moons, all of them adding their own bright light to the drab desert below. Nothing existed there. No life had formed. It was too harsh and too barren for any organic life, plant or otherwise, to flourish. There were dark orange and red rocks jutting out of the sandy landscape about them. The soil was even dead, hostile to anything that might try to live within. There was no water, nothing to support the gentle and fragile creation that was organic life.

Robotic life on the other hand… his unit marched towards the northern pole, hoping that their communication expert was correct when he stated that it'd have the less magnetic interference. It was stated that the northern part of the planet might contain a zone that wasn't so heavily affected by the massive sources of gravity. Of course, none of them knew for sure.

Their commanding officers had been thrown into a permanent offline status – meaning, they were dead. He was in command now. A scrawny little private who had been through an accelerated training course at the academy. Accelerated because there was no time for a thorough education in the finer points of wall. They just had to make do, if you didn't get snuffed on your first outing, and your second, third and so on, then maybe you were cut out for it this after all.

Desperation.

That's what he'd heard the head of the academy say to one of the officers from a unit that had taken heavy losses at Energon Lake. They needed troops; they needed anyone, just someone to hold a gun, point and shoot, and hope like the Pit you took out a few of the enemy in the process.

Desperation was what they marched with now. Not knowing if they'd make it to the northern pole, not knowing if their communication expert was right, not even knowing if they were a priority to be rescued if their mayday was heard.

Desperation.

The sand was irritating to him, it got in his joints and worked their way into his cables, rubbing against his fuel lines, while it wasn't sharp enough to penetrate into them, it was still annoying. And even if it did find a way in, it wouldn't do any damage, his filters would see to that. But filtering was another process that required energy that he just didn't have enough of. Just stopping himself from remembering friends, family and Cybertron, of better times, that was a lot of energon wasted. He dare not think of happier things, encase he start to dwell on just how much he had to loose and how he probably would drop offline here, where he'd drop down into the sand and slowly break down under the violent suns that blasted down their radiation.

The only thought he allowed to pass through his CPU was the need to get to the pole with as many as his fellows as possible. He was aware that he was vocalising, and quite loudly at that, to his charges positive slogans about how they had to get there to continue the good fight and win back their home world. He wasn't even sure if he'd see their home world again.

He passed his hand up over his forehead to wipe some of the lubricant that was forming and dripping into his optics. It was just another thing to be irritated about. To his left a companion dropped down to his knees, his upper body flopping forward and slightly to the left his face burying into the sand. He stood there, there was not enough energy in him to crouch down and check him, but he had seen enough offline to know this one was dead. It was confirmed by their medic in training who found the effort to kneel and check.

"He's gone, sir".

Came the croaky statement.

He didn't answer; it'd take too much energy. He continued on, leaving the body of their colleague to disintegrate in the unmerciful suns.

Several hours of walking, walking which seemed to get them no where, a voice came from behind.

"Sir, up ahead sir".

The now commanding officer looked up from watching his sand covered feet plough through. There on the horizon was a series of large rocks and there was obviously some caves.

"Can we please rest in that shade?"

Someone asked, obviously no longer capable to bother wasting energy with formalities of "sir". The commanding officer acting replied in the affirmative and they seemed to increase just slightly, their speed to get there.

It took 45 minutes to reach the rocky out lies; he didn't care about the formality of anything, and was certainly not even concerned to bother with organising a watch. He dropped his metallic body to the ground and lent against some pleasantly cool rocks and shut his optics down for a quick recharge.

--

His internal chronometer hadn't worked since the crash. Whether it had been the force of the impact or perhaps something had knocked him over the noggin' when they ploughed into the planet or maybe even this bloody magnetic field and huge amount of gravity the orb processed could be interfering. He opened his optics not knowing how long he'd recharged, but he felt slightly refreshed. There was only so much of a boast his internal emergency generator could produce without an intake of energon. He stretched his legs out and wriggled what passed as toes, his arms above his head his fingers tapered out and gently itched the rocks hanging above him. He stood slowly and was about to gather up his troops when he noticed something unsettling about them.

He could only stand there for a moment and take it all in.

Slowly.

He moved about their still forms, trying to tell himself they were just deep in recharge.

That they'd get up again if he barked a command.

But they wouldn't.

Sometime during his recharge cycle they had died, every last one of them had slipped off into the Matrix or the All Spark or whatever name one wished to attribute to the void.

He'd been sleeping next to corpses and that realisation caused a chill to settle upon him that even in the horrid heat that engulfed the planet did not relieve him.

His memory banks uploaded an event, a class room discussion at the academy where they spoke of what to do should you find yourself a survivor in a dead unit.

Cannibalise what you can and then move on. The mission takes precedence to respecting the dead.

Moving on some kind of spooky auto pilot he walked around their bodies, taking from them fuel cells from rifles and pillaging the small reserves that sat idol in unused generator reserves. That had been another lesson, the emergency generator would produce a small amount of energon for the body, it could give you a few more cycles, BUT, and it was a big BUT, you had to make sure you didn't slip into recharge, as the emergency generator had to be consciously activated and if you were in recharge you couldn't do that. It would be akin to an organic form of life going to sleep with a bleeder. They couldn't stop the bleeding while they slept, and as they slept they'd have no awareness that they're life was seeping out of them.

He felt like a thief, and he tried not to think he was anything worse then that as he ripped an EG from one of them and sucked the energon from it, it gave him a slight buzz and he used that. He pillaged the communicator from their expert and hoped that it would work and that if it didn't he could figure out the repairs. He was on his own now, it was time to get up that stupid pole and hope like the Pit that someone, anyone, intercepted his signal.

--

The EG and the other bits and bobs that he'd pillaged from his dead companions lasted him about six cycles, he reached the pole with enough to spare to set up the radio, it worked, he was pleased, he sat.

That's when he heard it.

The howling.

He'd ignored the feeling he was being watched as he tramped up the sand dunes.

He'd ignored the whispers as he trudged through the dust.

He'd sung to himself brave and morale lifting ditties as he clambered over mountains.

But the howling, he'd always told himself as he marched along that it was the wind, it the was sounds of sand brushing against the many rocky protrusions, it was anything EXCEPT the haunting cries of his companions. The accusations murmured to him as he recharged the hisses that told him he was guilty as he woke, the unpleasant grumbles he heard as he voided wastes. Essentially, he was either going insane… because the other option was just too crazy.

So the howling wrapped around him, it began to take on shapes, shapes that were too familiar for him, the shapes of his kin. It was frightening really. The way the sand swirled upwards and began to twist into creations that weren't quite robotic and weren't quite natural.

"Who are you?"

He pushed his energy into his vocaliser and demanded an answer.

_You left usssssssss._

They spoke in unison.

"I don't know who you are! What are you talking about?"

_You know who we arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre._

The sand was whipped up into his face, a few small stones flicking him in the left optic.

"Please! I'm sorry! Who are you! Please tell me!"

_We are._

"GET AWAY! GET AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

He cried as he slumped to his knees and bought his hands up to cover his head.

"Please, please, please just leave me alone!"

He looked up momentarily after he felt they had left him.

They hadn't.

The shapes of his unit stood around him, the grains of sand that made up their unnatural forms moved like a mass of ants over a pile of rotting fruit, its sugary juices leaking out and acting as a beacon to them.

_We will never leave._

--

Kup sat bolt upright in his chair, knocking several of the data pads from his desk, they spilled onto the floor. He groaned the groan of age and tired experience before he got himself down to pick them up.

"You're not them…"

He said suddenly as he scooped up two of the pads and then slowly stood up. He couldn't see it, he couldn't hear it, he couldn't smell it, but he could feel it. Not in the way a person reaches out and touches with their hands, or has something in the physical plane touch them or brush against them. This was a sensation that the CPU debated existed. But it did exist.

Kup took a step forward towards where he felt it stood.

"Who are you?"

He said firmly, his years of experience with more then wayward Decepticons had hardened him to the things that science could not explain away.

The thing that he felt but could not smell, see or hear seemed to move backwards, unsure if Kup was a) its target or b) worth the bother. It continued to remain in the office while the security officer persisted in questioning it.

Kup sighed.

"Suit yourself then, lad".

He put the data pads on the desk and sat back down, turning to tap into his computer, he had a raft of other issues on his mind, like the escape of the Twins and the mess that Sunstreaker had made when he had his outburst.

Kup wasn't sure if he should be surprised when the data pads when spinning across his desk, flew across the room and slammed into the wall.

"Not a very nice fellow, are you?"

He grumbled as he stood up and walked towards the pads.

"I'm no stranger to your kind, you wanna tell me who you are and what you're after or you just going to make a mess?"

He asked.

It was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

**22****nd**** December**

**0638hrs**

Snowbird Happysunshine Mountainbreeze, or Maggie Richwhite as she was legally known sat on the faux fur carpet in her living room, certain items of an occultist nature adorned the walls. A large Venus symbol with the image of a happy looking foetus hung from the wall directly in front of her, a small altar with candles that burned with a fragrant stench gave the darkness its only opposition. In her hands a homemade ceramic cup, crafted by her when she was under the control of her spirit guide. Within it a warm tea made of parsley and another herb most lay individuals outside her circle of friends would do hard to pronounce. It was to hurry the visit from Aunty Flo. Snowbird's unfortunate uterus was one that gave her body many issues, and she had spent many nights praying to the deities of the world for a life to grow within her.

Snowbird, was however, not the sharpest knife in the drawer and truly believed that without a man (or science) she could fall. She sipped at her tea and smiled as a new day was begun. Sunrise was later at this time of year, and she viewed that as a symbol that like her, she would fall later, hence the increase in prayer around this time of the yearly cycle.

She had a long day ahead of her and would need her strength, both physical and spiritual. She had to convene with the spirits in her friend's house at 8am, take charge of her other friend's Tarot shop from 9 till 12, then at 12.30pm be across town to host her own style of Yoga class, interspliced with Wiccan tenants, then at 1.30pm attend a feminist discussion group on the place of the Wiccan in their push for equal rights, then at 3pm get back to the otherside of town where she and her coven would cast spells to ensure the success of their favourite politician, at 4pm she had her commune with nature and her own animal spirit guide, at 5pm an early meal with friends then at 6 she had been invited to a college Sorority to tell the girls how to win their boyfriends, fight off unwanted pregnancy spirits and achieve academic success with the assist of positive thought and alignment of Chi, that engagement was going to last till about 11pm then at midnight Snowbird would return to her coven to begin another ceremony that would help brush off the evil prayers of Christians on the way up to Christmas, their prayers were intended to try and take back the pagan holiday the Zionists had stolen from them. This would last till 6 in the morning when she would ceremonially sleep till 6 the next night.

She finished her tea and began to stand; a slight tingle in her toes indicated that unpleasant pins and needles sensation. Today was going to be a good day indeed. There was suddenly a bright light shining at the window, it was certainly too powerful to be sunrise yet, it was a car in the drive way most probably. She wondered who it could be, and then gave consideration to the fact it might be her neighbour who worked shifts and would sometimes pull into her driveway instead of their own in a sleepy haze. Sometimes it was someone who realised that they had pulled down the wrong street or maybe she just had an early morning visitor, it wouldn't be the first.

Walking through into the kitchen she realised she hadn't heard any car door open or shut or anyone walking, which could be easily heard from her vantage point. She poured herself another tea and figured it was most likely her sleepy neighbour or someone checking a map, she wondered if she should go outside to help them and then thought better of it as she wanted to sing to her budgies before she left for the day… on second thought, she had some bad Karma she needed to burn off so she went to the door to see if she could offer some assistance.

Tea in one hand she opened the door with the other and walked out onto the front step. The precious homemade cup dropped to the concrete below and shattered about her bare feet.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

She screamed as she threw her hands up and ran inside and slammed the door shut, struggling with the lock and chain and generally just squeaking out gibberish.

"Oh for Pit's sake, Sunny! Your ugly mug scared her off!"

The voice from outside was loud enough that she could hear it through the large wooden door.

"Last I checked, this was _your _idea".

"At least _I _had an idea!"

"Well, pissing into the wind would have been a better idea then _this_!"

"Whatever!"

Snowbird shuddered with fear as she heard the two start up what sounded like some sort of brawl.

Oh Artemis!

She thought as she started running in towards the house.

"She's moving inside the house, Sides, if you gonna do something you better do it now in regard to gaining her services!"

"Yeah, yeah, I have sensors too you know!"

The red twin got down on his knees and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"What the hell is up with you now?"

His golden, still badly singed brother asked.

"I… I just figured Optimus would have personally roared at us if we did something like this".

"Yeah, well, that Prime is dead, so get that squishy before she takes off out the back and gets into a crowd of them. She does that, we'll never find her, those grubby things all look alike!"

Sideswipe sighed at his brother's commentary, brushed aside any concerns a big annoyed Optimus could have ever snuck into his mind and the twin attempted to open the door.

He found the door handle too small and two slippery for him to get a good grip. He groaned irritably and had another try, still unsuccessful he tried to remove the hinges from the door.

"Oh for Primus' sake!"

Sunstreaker walked up to the house and kicked in the front wall.

The neighbour's dog started barking and lights in houses still dark flicked on.

"Sunstreaker! What the pit! You'll smush it one! Not to mention wake up half the planet!"

"Yeah, well, what are those little blobs going to do?"

Sunstreaker shrugged.

"Well, what are you waiting for, I'm not getting any more scratches, get your A into G and get in there!"

The golden twin pointed at the gaping hole framed by broken wood, frayed insulation and peeling wall paper.

Sideswipe shook his head, rather aggrieved and crawled into the house.

Even on his knees he was still a little to large to fit through the hole, part of the roof lifted as he moved in, swiping objects of human living out of his path. From inside the dwelling he heard a squeal, a very female human squeal.

"Hey! Lady! I ain't here to hurt you! We need your help!"

"YOU DESTORYED MY HOUSE YOU FUCKER!"

The brown haired human appeared from another room, her dirty hands pressed against the now crooked door frame between the lounge and kitchen. She threw something at him. The object, Sideswipe rationalised, was a frying pan, it struck him right in the forehead.

"HEY! That hurt!"

He growled and reached out to grab her, but she was too quick and he was too obstructed by the mess he was making as the house began to collapse around him.

She ran into the kitchen and found herself in a rather bit of a predicament, she could see the legs of the other one standing in her back yard, the only other option she had was upstairs, and given the condition of the house that probably wasn't the best bet. Sunstreaker was suddenly alert to the fact that she was in the kitchen and he dropped to his knees, the jolt to the earth wobbled the entire house on its foundations and the rumbles shook up her legs knocking her to her arse. Snowbird moved quickly to spin around and get on her knees, she shuffled along the gritty tiled floor and over to the cupboard, something grabbed her leg. She turned, saw the robot, screamed, kicked, screamed some more, peed her pants, passed out, which was probably a good thing given the house then collapsed on top of Sideswipe.

--

She came round to the sound of laughing.

It didn't sound human.

"Hah, man! Sides! You look a treat!"

"Oh, ha ha ha, laugh it up candle boy!"

"Hey, at least my recent makeover is relevant, I got it doing something, _you _on the other hand, smashing up a squishy's house only to have it fall on you, now that's classic!"

She was aware that what she lay on was soft and smelt familiar. When she tried to sit up she found herself strapped down.

"Oh, sorry! They're safe belts, right? You humans use them to stay safe in vehicles?"

Sideswipe's voice reached her ears and joined the ringing. She groaned, then became acutely aware of the smell of urine, her's, oh great. She was in the back of an alien robot, probably one of those Transformers she kept hearing about, and she'd peed herself. She was never going to live this down, if she lived long enough to live this down. She shuddered.

"Hey, are you cold? You meat bags get cold, right? That's why you have those things on you… ah… clothes right?"

She wasn't in any mood to try and converse with the thing, but as she half sat she realised how fast it was moving and if it got sick of her, or offended with her, and he seemed the easily offendable type, he could just flick open the door and drop her to the road at 180 kph. Snowbird decided to smile and respond, if only to be polite and if only to help burn off some of that Karma, and chances are she was either burning a LOT off or getting a lot back.

"No, I'm not cold".

"You're functioning at full capacity though, right?"

"Waa?"

"Ah… Sunny, help me out bro…"

He spoke to someone, she couldn't see anyone else in the car, and then she looked out the right window and saw a yellow lambo driving along side. Oh no. She thought.

"Why the hell are you asking me, I don't know anything about the finer points of human conversation".

"What I want to know, human female lady ma'am, is are you good in yourself?

"You mean am I okay?"

"Yeah".

"Well…"

She started calm and pulled on her meditation and chi exercises to keep herself that way. No point getting worked up in a creature that could change it's shape and crush you into bad pâté.

"You destroyed my house. Killed my budgies. Annoyed my neighbour's dog. Caused me to pee my favourite outfit. Almost killed me. And have now kidnapped me for whatever purpose you two giant robots have. But other then all that, I'm just peachy keen happy faces and cute babies laughing merrily in the sunny park as their mummies talk about breast pumps and diaper changes".

The last comment ended up drenched with sarcasm which the twins knew all too well. Sunstreaker muffled a laugh and Sideswipe offered an apology about the house, which she took, but was inwardly annoyed given an apology wasn't going to rebuild her house.

The two robots conversed with each other for the next two hours, occasionally one of them, usually the one she sat in, Sideswipe, would ask her something, and she only gave yes or no answers. Finally they reached a destination that concerned her greatly.

Up ahead was a large series of moss covered rocks and small hill formations. They were in the middle of a well forested area. Sideswipe unlatched the seat belt and opened the door; she stepped out onto the soft damp grass. Her bare feet stung slightly as she realised she had a few decent cuts on the undersides, along with a multitude of bruises and grazes up her legs and arms. She really wished she could get a change of clothes, as not only were they soaked with her pee but also singed and ripped, and generally just covered in the dusty and fragmented remains of her house.

"Are you going to kill me?"

She asked suddenly as the remoteness of the location dawned on her, the asphalt road having run out, well, she didn't know when and she certainly couldn't recall when the road went from gravel to dirt to dirt to grass and mud. Obviously no one had been in here in a very long time.

Sunstreaker seemed amused and humpfted turning away with a followed up chuckle.

"We're not going to kill you".

Sideswipe responded, she bit her tongue and didn't reply with the fact they had already almost killed her.

"My name is Sideswipe and this is my bro Sunstreaker, we need your help Miss Snowbird HappySunshine Mountainbreeze".

"Just call me Snow".

She said numbly.

"You see, we have a bit of a problem and we looked up on the Google for help and you were the first site to show up in this region of the planet. Please, please, Snow, you gotta help us!"

"What exactly is your problem?"

She raised an eyebrow, wondering why on earth or any planet the robots wished to dwell upon, would need someone of her profession.

"We're being haunted by something or someone or whatever, basically some crazy shit is going on and we want it to stop and we don't know why its going on".

She looked at him for a moment and opened her mouth ever so slightly to better increase her inhalation, more as a statement of "what have I been pulled into?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

She asked, unsure of her words, unsure if they were the right ones to say, unsure of well… everything.

"Lady, look where you are, look what we did to get you here, you think we're kidding around?"

Sunstreaker asked as he approached her.

They stood in silence for a few moments. It was rather uncomfortable.

"Let's go".

Sideswipe suddenly perked up, not on friendly terms with the quiet.

--

They walked into the forest for about twenty minutes before the finally came across a metal shack against the side of a large mountain cliff. It had the same insignia on the top of the door as was on the two robots who had kidnapped her for her services.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you some fleshy food".

Sideswipe said.

At that Sunstreaker reached up and grabbed some leaves off a branch and then dropped them at her dirty feet.

"Here you go. You guys eat leaves, right?"

She wasn't sure if he was serious or joking, but deciding to err on the side of caution she told them she wasn't hungry.

"Right".

The red twin dropped to his backside on the ground in front of the shack, the sudden loud thump caused every bird in the nearby trees to fly off with fright, squawking as they went, not to mention pooping.

So now it was her pee, dirt, dust and poop she found herself covered in.

"Tell me about your problems in more detail".

She sighed as she tired to remove a larger chunk of poop from her shoulder; there was a feather in it. Whatever purpose they had, helping them better give her a next twenty lives a clear slate when it comes to Karma!

Sunstreaker sat down a little more discretely and they began to recount their story to the woman.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

**22****nd**** December**

**1045hrs**

He woke up with an execruitiating pain in his neck. He was afraid to turn move his head on any plane of movement, but he knew he'd have to. Deciding to sit up first was also not a grand idea. But it had to be done. The smell of the hotel reached his nostrils and the truly foul odours that combined together gave him the encouragement to make those uncomfortable movements. Stretching his neck out didn't really help the discomfort but he knew it was the first step to recovery from a bad hotel pillow. The man didn't dare give thought to the condition of the mattress.

The light coming in through the flimsy curtains told him it was definitely NOT 0800 and so the cheap hotel alarm had obviously not gone off. He reached over and felt around on the sticky bedside table for his watch and was horrified when he saw the true time staring back at him.

"That can't be right!"

He gasped as he threw the bedding off, swung his legs around and planted his feet on the rough carpet, though he was unable to register that. He lifted himself over to his chair and wheeled across to the kitchen bench and picked up his cellphone. The time was indeed correct. No one had rung, so obviously Perceptor had not been too interested in his assistance to sort out their current predictament, or as Percy had a habit of doing, had probably gotten so engrossed in his work he'd completely forgotten. Chip's neck certainly wasn't going to forget for a good few weeks, the only person this would benefit would be human's physiotherapist.

Chip phoned Autobot City, put through to Percy's lab by an always cheery Blaster. Percy gave the usual long winded, esoteric semantics based excuse that roughly translated to "Oh yeah, I forgot about that, just come in whenever". Chip was informed the Autobot scientist that he'd go visit the ghost hunters group that had been recommended to him, then if that was unsuccessful he'd swing by the rest home and chat again with the Priest, see if he could convince the old man to leave his nice warm cardie infested bedroom and come look for ghosties at a robot city. Perceptor gave the usually long winded response that it was a good idea and the conversation then ended.

Chip was at least pleased that the extra time and Perceptor's liberal employment structure would enable him to get a bite, nothing from the hotel of course…

--

It was a really normal looking kind of house. It could probably use a coat of paint, but generally it was in good condition. No broken or dirty windows, a heavy front door with a glass window inlaid and a doorbell, a nice garden kept well maintained was enclosed in the well crafted white picket fence. It even had a ramp leading up to the porch, which was good for Chip. As he sat there in his wheelchair staring up at the house, he had to wonder if it was indeed the place he was told held the Central City and Portland Region Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Investigators' Association. It was quite a wordy title and it looked awkard squeezed onto the small black card, though the shiney green lettering was a nice marketing touch, if not a little pricy. He decided to take the risk and wheeled himself up to the door.

A man answered.

He looked normal.

Like the house.

He wore a casual pair of cargo pants, a dark brown colour which seemed to suit him perfectly. Fluffy dark blue socks poked out from the material. On top he wore a long sleeved maroon turtle neck top underneath a dark brown vest. His hair was neatly groomed and a pair of frameless glasses sat on his face. Chip had always liked those glasses but found without the support of a metal frame the lenses seemed to floopy and too fragile.

"Hi?"

The man asked.

"Ah…"

Chip looked down at the card in his hand and then back up at the dark skinned gentleman with well styled black hair.

"This is going to sound really strange, but…"

"You're in the right place".

The man said rather dully.

"Excuse me?"

Chip inquired.

"The ghost hunters right?"

"How'd you know?"

The man laughed, it was a pleasant laugh, not one of spite or enjoyment in the stupidity of suffering of others, it was truly friendly and joyful.

"Everyone who comes here starts up with "this is really strange" and we all know they're talking about the hunters!"

He chuckled and stepped aside.

"Come in, come in! My name's Ethan".

He walked through into the living area where sitting at a large table covered in a raft of different electronic devices and parts were two others. The young woman in her early 20s with long red hair tied back in a plait, bright blue eyes and incredibly pale skin, dressed in black hipster jeans and a heavy dark green jersey that looked home made was introduced to be Ainsley. The slightly older man, perhaps 28, 29, wearing dark yellow trackpants with the Adidas stripes and a black hoodie of the same brand with green eyes, short blond hair and well tanned was Wade.

He introduced himself and the general pleasantries of an inaugural conversation were dispensed with. The topic then moved quickly to what Chip had come for and after explaining his experiences, the experiences of Perceptor and strange coincidence of the twins sudden insanity and various other reports the three ghost hunters were certainly intrigued.

"So, what happens now, I'm new to all of this".

Chip was honest.

"Usually we'd discuss cost and what not but given none of us have ever met us one of those robots I think I can speak for all of us here when I say we'll do it pro bono. And it's certainly an interesting case, I give you that".

Ethan explained.

"So you'll take the case?"

Chip asked.

Ainsley looked up from the small calculator looking device she was tweaking with a screw driver and smiled.

"Absolutely! This'll be great for our marketing, Eth",

Wade nodded in agreement.

"Oh thank goodness".

"What would you have done if we had asked for too high a price, or had turned you down?"

"Well, at this point,"

Chip answered Ethan.

"Money is not a factor, as for a denial, there was a priest friend of my friend's deceased father who I think might have helped, even if he just gave me advice on how to go about it, it would have been better then sitting on my hands waiting for them to numb worse then my legs".

Occasionally Chip would joke at his expense, the others either didn't find it funny or didn't get it. The odd look on the girl's face told him it was probably the later.

"What's the clergyman's name?"

Wade asked as he put down a series of wires he was counting through.

"Tobias McGirr".

The three started laughing, obviously with knowledge of who the man of the cloth was.

"You know him?"

Chip inquired, though he felt it was a redundant question given their friendly chuckling.

"Oh yeah! Toby is fantastic! We go visit him every weekend. None of us are Catholic, and that doesn't bother him much, but we have heaps in common, and that man, he's got the experience to back him up, he knows his shit, I tell you what!"

Ethan grinned from ear to ear, obviously recounting inwardly all the exciting adventures he'd had with the Padre.

"Oh yeah, remember that time in that old pysch ward? Hell, I thought I was going to crap my pants, but then he whips out that massive crucifix and we were set!"

The girl threw her hands up in absolute delight her bright eyes glowing with the light of memory and joy at such times.

"Seriously, if you've met him, if you've chatted with him, you're well on your way to getting this issue sorted".

Wade added.

"Okay, let's get a cuppa and a feed and then get down to logistics, Mr. Chip".

Ethan smiled as he motioned to the kitchen.

Chip hoped their light hearted joy and their relative normal look didn't mean they weren't the real deal. He had half expected men in white jumpsuits with big packs on their backs and ray guns of some ethereal description, something akin to Ghost Busters, a card board cut out of the characters he soon noticed was standing in the kitchen next to the fridge.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's NB: **Thanks for the r/vs peeps, usually my ramblings go unnoticed by the slash obsessed junkies.

Meirelle, thanks for your input and questions, firstly, the chapter with Kup started in my mind with no reference to Spotlight, then I remembered halfway through about that chapter and so I sort of built a bit around it, it could be a stand alone or the same experience, but I think he was relatively old on that world where he went nutso. As for the Ghost Buster's cut-outs, I saw them in the local video store and they were pretty ratty looking, so were probably as old as the movie!! (I hear there's a new movie coming out soon…)

Anyway, glad you guys are enjoying it. Thanks again.

Keep reading! (o^__^o)

**Chapter Twenty Four**

**22****nd**** December**

**1305hrs**

A quiet breeze made its way up a gravel road that travelled around the western edge of the Autobot's city. A few of the remaining leaves were dislodged from branches and scuffed along the rough ground. The three humans stood along side Chip in front of their little Scooby Doo styled van, complete with custom paint job.

"So, in regard to all the death and dying and what not, where exactly is this place in relation to that place?"

Ainsley asked as she took a step towards the fence that looked a lot more flimsy then it actually was.

"Don't get too close to the fence".

Chip said as a warning more as a pedantic order.

"What will happen if we do?"

Wade asked as he reached a hand towards it, not intending to touch it.

"You'll get a hell of a stun that'll fry the skin right off your fingers".

"Seems a bit of dangerous kind of thing to have around an apparently human friendly species".

The woman replied.

"Yeah, well, they've had a change of management".

He took a few good thrusts of his wheels to get himself close to the woman.

"Its basically everywhere. Bots and humans alive died all over the place. Almost six months on they're still digging up bodies".

"Yeah… according to EMF there is a significant change in the fields around this location".

Ainsley stated as she held the small device up in the air moving about slowly.

"The AIC is registering a disruption".

Wade commented.

"What are those things?"

Chip asked as he suddenly realised he didn't know what they were talking about.

"EMF, it measures electro magnetic fields, ghosts can cause them, and the AIC, air ion counter picks up on disruptions to the ionic fields – ghosts can play around with them too".

Ethan asked as he walked a few metres up the road from the van.

"I take it this isn't an official request for assistance, that you're doing this under your own initiative?"

He asked Chip, still facing up the road towards the huge foreboding mountain up ahead.

"Yeah, well, sort of. There are a couple of Autobots who know of this, and one in particular knows I've taken this path, but the Leader of the Autobots and his officers don't have a clue, I think it's best not to get them involved, I don't think they'd understand or even want to investigate this line of thought".

Chip was at least honest.

"Where does this road lead?"

Ethan asked as he turned back to the wheelchair bound scientist.

"You know, I'm not quite sure, I haven't been around this area before, I just know its been ignored in the reconstruction as they have been concerning themselves more with closer locations that need rebuilding".

Chip answered.

"Alright, well, I'm getting some incredible readings from up this way".

Ethan began.

"Ainsley, get the cameras out of the van, Wade get the barometer and the recorder, I wanna see what we can get".

The leader of the little group started up the path.

"Come on Chip, let's go hunt some ghosties".

--

**1347hrs**

Chip was inwardly surprised at how long the road was, and outwardly starting to get sore, especially when the road got a bit rougher and especially when it started inclining. Eventually it had levelled out and they came to the end of it. It sat near the base of the ranges and was surrounded by trees. Some of which were very obviously damaged. A stack of dead trees was piled up in the left corner of the clearing and there were various stumps sticking out of the ground where the trees had once been connected.

The gravel road had started to become rather sparse in regards to shape, size and general stoniness. Grass was growing freshly up through various areas of the road. It surprised them how large the clearing was and how the road leading into it was more of a bottleneck. Chip rolled himself towards what looked like a mound of dirt that as only just beginning to show the signs of grass covering. What had grabbed his attention was the white stick jutting out.

"Eth, the readings are off the chart here!"

Wade announced as he moved around the change in the ground's colouring, walking along where the dirt mound began.

"He's bang on! I'll get some pix and start the recorder".

The woman stated as she removed the recorder from the pack around her waist and placed it on one of the greasy stumps.

On closer inspection he realised it wasn't a stick.

Chip wheeled back in shock and outwardly gasped. More from absolute surprise then any kind of frightened horror.

"What is it?"

The woman asked as she switched the record button down.

"I think this is a mass grave".

The three other humans approached what was holding the scientist's attention.

"Oh God. Is that a femur?"

Ainsley crouched down by it and reaching out gingerly stroked it with her fingers.

"Yeah, it is".

Wade said matter of factly.

"Did you know about this place?"

Ethan turned to Chip, he wasn't accusing him of anything, but his voice did sound a little uncertain about what was going on.

"I heard rumours of mass graves. That there were so many human body parts found after the attacks that the Autobots hurried up and buried them".

"Why wouldn't they hand them over to the authorities, it seems kinda odd that they'd keep human parts and not let the human culture deal with it".

Ainsley reported.

"Yeah, well, like I said before, change of management".

He wasn't sure if he believed himself, could Rodimus and Magnus be so callous as to just heap these human parts into a big hole and not say anything about it? What of Jazz? He had his finger on the pulse of human culture; surely he would have piped up about the importance of religious ceremony and the human respect for the dead – and their need for closure. Truth was, Chip didn't know what to think. He just sat there in his chair, the wheels muddy with hopefully only mud and stared at that white bone, poking out of the dark brown, a stark contrast and a creepy, morbid reminder or what the Decepticons were capable of. And perhaps even worse, what the Autobots were capable of.

"Well, I can give you a quick diagnosis right here, no wonder you have so much activity, the deceased could be angry at such a lack of respect, they could be wanting their parts to be reunited with their other remains, or they could be demanding just a marker".

Ethan expressed, a slight twinge of anger seeping from his voice as he spoke.

"Yeah, sometimes all it takes is for someone to say a prayer on their behalf".

Ainsley said softly as she looked down at what she then realised was a bone from a human finger, a dirty gold ring the clue that gave away its biological identity. She bent down and picked it up as she was aware of Wade saying a few prayers in Latin. Something she recognised that Toby at taught them. She picked up the finger and slipped the ring off onto the palm of her hand; she brushed a few of the heavy clumps of dirt from it and was able to make out the engraving.

"Lou & Steph forever, 1999".

She read it out solemnly.

"Obviously not".

Wade said suddenly.

"Unless they're both buried here".

"Steph, Lou, one or both of you have parts buried here. Please give us a sign if you need help or need peace".

Ethan spoke firmly, loudly, there was a rustle of the wind through the nearby trees but given that it was a breezy day and it had been accompanying them the whole way, it was probably just nature and not anything initiated by a ghostly power.

"We want to help! We want to know why this place is being so touched".

Ethan continued.

The earth gave way and the man fell down the small opening and into a mass of still rotting bodies. Ethan wasn't much effected by it and slowly pulled himself out of the biological sludge and up out of the hole.

"Would that class as a sign?"

Chip asked, unsure, and rather mortified as Ethan respectfully as possible removed the remains of a foot that had caught in the strap of one of his bags of equipment.

The man stood in front of the scientist and brushed off the dirt and shrugged.

"Could be, or it just could be the ground is so full of bodies that as they rotted it sunk slowly and its integrity was compromised".

If anything, Chip was impressed with the composure of the three of them; obviously they'd been in this sort of situation before.

The four then peered down into the hole, Wade shone a powerful torch into the bleak and what they saw would haunt the scientist for the rest of his life. Ainsley looked away with a real sadness in her eyes that such a mismatch of parts could be laid together and be called a final resting place. Wade was stoic about the whole thing and realised inwardly they were just the physical remains of those so unfortunate, their souls having departed long ago from such a frail prison of flesh. Ethan, well, he was more annoyed that he hadn't been more careful, but hoped, somewhat selfishly, that such a huge grave would provide many good paranormal readings.

"So what now?"

Ainsley asked.

"Well, let's get some more readings around here, and Chip, if its okay with you, I think we will leave a few pieces of recording equipment about so we might be able to pick up something. I'd also like to camp the van here tonight to keep an eye on things".

Ethan added.

"Sure, I came to you guys for help, so whatever you need just ask. I'll let a couple of the Autobots know so they don't think you're a spy or something".

"Yeah, that'd be good, I'd hate to get shot as a spy and end up in one of those graves".

Wade expressed.

"You guys camped out at "haunted" places or graves or whatever before?"

The scientist asked as he wheeled back slightly.

"Yeah quite a…"

The bodies, well, parts of the bodies, in the sludgy liquid they had produced that they now resided in sudden exploded upwards like a volcano, it rained down on the four of them, covering them with bits of bone and well rotted organs. All four of them heard it. All four of them would remember it. All four of them turned and left as quickly as legs and wheels would carry them.

GET OUT!!!

The voices screamed in unison and then everything was eerily quiet, but the four were too busy escaping down the hidden road.

They were about fifty metres from the grave when something hit Chip on the top of the head and whatever it was bounced down onto his lap, it was the face of a skull, the rest of had broken away somewhere and given the singe marks around the top of the forehead and the shattered optic ridge left no question as to how this unfortunate individual had met their death, or how the body had been damaged there after. Chip gasped in horror and quickly brushed the part of the fleshless face onto the ground, his wheels still moving with speed crushed over it. A small scream came from under his wheel and it chilled him to the bones. Another series of bones and sludge started to rain down upon them.

Up ahead, Ainsley started screaming and brushing at her hair to get the small bones of fingers, toes and vertebrae out of her hair. She stood still for a moment in an attempt to get the half rotten hand off her shoulder when Chip slammed into her, unable to stop and unable to see as a series of intestine, rotting, landed on his head and a loop or two caught on his glasses blocking his field of vision. He was thrown from his chair and knocked into Wade, Ainsley had already fallen the chair still propelling, moved over her until a radius bone caught in the spokes and stopped it dead. A huge cloud passed in front of the sun and Wade quickly realised as he looked up towards the impending darkness that it was no fluffy cloud moving along the afternoon sky as the wet started smacking him, it was lumpy with sharp pieces in it, he realised it was the rotten, coagulated blood and muck of those victims now drowning him with their rancid stench, the small bones and fragments of such mixed through prickling his skin.

GET OUT!!

The voices screamed again, the very sound they made caused a wave of nausea to pass over Ethan who was then hit rather hard in the back of the head with about twenty skulls and fragments of such, he went down hard and was knocked into the bleak cold of unconsciousness.

Wade found the strength, whether naturally or spurned on by fear, pushed himself up, grabbed the chair off a sobbing Ainsley, pulled her up and shoved her into a run, he then lugged up the scientist and threw him into his chair before pulling the still Ethan up, loosing his grip twice due to the slip of the sludge on his form. He then shouldered him and began to run.

"COME ON! LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

He screamed as he moved his legs as quickly as they would allow.

More sludge and bones started to rain down upon them. It made the ground uneven and slippery, all of them, including Chip found moments where they began to loose footing from the road.

GET OUT!!

It gave one last wave of rot and gore and then up ahead they noticed the lick of purple behind a few bushes. It was the van. They all inwardly thanked God, though Chip actually verbalised it. They made it to the van and Ainsley managed to regain herself enough composure to get the door open and help Wade place the still unconscious Ethan on the back floor. Wade literally picked up Chip and threw the slimy man into the back next to the lump that was Ethan, then he collapsed the chair as quick as anyone Chip had ever seen do it, and threw that in with him. Ainsley was already in the front of the van; Wade slammed the door and climbed in after the woman. She was struggling to get the keys in the ignition as her fingers were covered in the thickened liquids of the dead. She was swearing profusely and finally got it in, she turned the keys but nothing happened.

"Its dead, its fucking dead!!"

She squealed.

"Calm down! Try again!"

Wade shouted at her as he fumbled around for a cloth to wipe some of the excess off. He found one under the seat and handed it to the girl.

"WIPE THE KEYS! WIPE YOUR HANDS!"

He screamed, the terror of the situation beginning to sink into him. The van started to rock violently and loud banging sounds echoed from every panel.

"HOLY GOD!"

Chip roared from the back.

Ainsley grabbed the cloth and wiped the dark muck from her hands then gave revealed part of the key a quick clean; she found her grip was stronger on it once she used the cloth to hold it. Still, it did not start.

"Oh please God, just START!!"

She screamed to the sound of the motor beginning to turn over.

"OH thank the Lord God!"

She sighed with relief as she put the heavy machine into gear, but it wouldn't move.

"NOW WHAT??!!"

She slammed her hands on the steering wheel and put her head down on top of them forcefully and started to cry. Wade looked into the rear view mirror.

"We're stuck in mud! We're fucking stuck in fucking mud!!"

He growled.

The voices were around them now, whispering loudly all sorts of horrors. Most of it couldn't be distinguished, it sounded as if a large group of people were in another room and you stood outside trying to focus on just one individual conversation, but you could not. Chip felt a chill pass over his entire body, it was the first time in a long time he'd felt sensation on his legs, and it wasn't pleasant and he wished it would end. The whispers got louder, and the sounds of thumping were replaced by scratching.

The back window suddenly shattered, showering glass over Chip and the lump that was Ethan. The whispers that had been resigned to the outside came in like a torrent and wrapped each of them in the horrors the victims had faced in their final moments, it was a frightening chill that seeped in through their pores and didn't stop till it reached their very souls, which it subsequently polluted with its foulness.

"Oh GOD!"

Ainsley screamed from behind the steering wheel. Wade as out the door and behind the machine, he was pushing, screaming at her to give it the gas. Life suddenly tore through the metal and rubber and the tyres got enough traction that the van was up and out of the muck, spraying a good portion over Wade. The force also knocked him backwards; he could see them now, the owners of the voices. Standing over him. Forms of black and shades of gray with light blue eyes that stared at him longingly, with a sadness that he could not help but pity and could not help but turn his mind from, he whimpered as their eyes relayed to him further pain as vast as the ocean.

"Oh please, God, just make them leave me be!"

He sobbed as he rolled over into the foetal position, in the soggy, stinking mud, the van speeding away along the uneven road.

Chip screamed at Ainsley to stop and go get Wade but she was too panicked, he was certainly in no condition to do it, but somewhere in the next twelve metres she found the ability to brake, get out, and run back to the weeping man.

"Wade!! Get up Wade!!"

She pulled him from the muck.

"NO! Go away! Just leave me! Please! Just leave me be! OH GOD!!"

His sobs were so pathetic, so deep; she'd never heard anything more miserable or horrific.

"Please Wade, I can't go without you!"

Somewhere in those words Wade found the strength to get up and limp with her back to the van, the voices still wrapping themselves around every part of their minds. She got in the driver's seat, he in the passengers, and all of them stinking; she drove back to the main road.

The voices followed them for another ten minutes before the left them. Their departure from them was so sudden it was five minutes of silence that they realised they were gone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

**22****nd**** December**

**1400hrs**

"Oh, OH! There is definitely something here! Its very negative! Its very… oppressive! It's not happy you've laid your city over its property! It views this place as its own! You and your companions have desecrated its resting place!! It wants you to leave!"

She held her hands up in the air like she was reaching up for some invisible fruit above her. She spun around to face them then dropped to the ground.

"Oh mother Earth, oh Gaia, tell me what I need to know to assist your friends in appeasing the angry force that torments them with its unruly and nasty ways!"

She held her arms above her head her hands in point.

"OH earth goddess, I beseech thee, MOTHER!"

She screamed as she thrust her hands down into the soil.

She was full of shit of course, she didn't operate like this, but what did they know?

They were watching her intently, amazed at her composure and her apparent ability to "commune" with the mother planet. While her hands were still buried within the stiff winter soil she rocked herself side to side moaning as if she were lying in bed with a lover.

Squeezing her eyes shut she craned her head up and opened her mouth to scream, or what the metallic beings thought she was to scream, she didn't.

"Yes mother".

She whispered.

"Of course mother".

Her head flopped forward and she began groaning again.

"MOTHER!!!"

She roared as she flicked her hands up, clumps of dirt, a series of roots and a solitary worm flew up and nailed Sunstreaker in the groin.

"Gives new meaning to the term "sod piece", huh, bro?"

Sideswipe started laughing hysterically.

"Oh would you shut up!"

He replied as he slapped his more jovial twin upside the head.

"So, what do we gotta do to make this thing leave us alone?"

Sunstreaker asked the woman as she stood up in her pee pants.

"Well, for starters you could take me to the nearest clothing depot so I can get something that doesn't remind me of a puppy mill".

"I like puppies".

Sideswipe replied. His brother narrowed his optics.

"Then we need to go get some things to help remove the unsettled spirits. See, usually, if you disturb a spirit you just undistrub it, either by replacing what you took or leaving, but obviously you can't just pack up shop and go relocate, so we're going to have to do a spiritual removal spell. We just encourage the spirit to act like a snail, to discard its old, worn, small shell, and go searching for a nicer, larger one".

"And that bullocks works?"

Sunstreaker asked.

"I've never seen it not work".

Blatant lies.

But they didn't seem to click onto that, she was relieved.

"Okay, so what did the mummy planet tell you?"

Sideswipe inquired.

"She told me that you have annoyed a spirit, and that spirit wants to hurt you for its nuisance, but more to the fact it wants to hurt you so you will get your backsides moving and to appease it. It wants appeasement. Then we can send it on its way".

"What kind of knick knacks do you need to get it packing?"

The red twin followed up with.

"Ah, just get me back into town and we'll go to a shop that specialises in these things".

"And then this damn thing will leave us alone".

"Absolutely. If you read my website you would have seen I offer a 100% guarantee or I will take up all your bad Karma".

More blatant lies.

Sideswipe seemed convinced, transformed and opened his door letting the dirty woman hop in. No way in the Pit that his twin would open himself to a human covered in her own waste and clumps of dirt. She was also smelly.

Man, humans are so gross.

The red twin pulled out of the small forested area by the fence line on the South point of the base and took off towards the large human settlement or "city" as they called them.

**1510hrs**

"Okay, SnowMoutainSunHappy go in and get your ghost removal stuff".

Sideswipe stated as he opened his door. She didn't correct him on the misuse of her name.

The two lambos were parked outside the Bed, Bath & Beyond store – she explained that they sold beds, baths and things to do with the "beyond" physical plane and they bought it. She had to admit, she was getting good at this lying thing. They watched as she disappeared into the shop, there were quite a number of humans rushing around and Sideswipe recalled there was some kind of human event coming up where they worshipped trees by spending their currency on things no one in their right mind could possibly want or need… waitasec…

"Hey, Sunny?"

"What?"

"Don't humans have physical currency?"

"What the hell are you on about?"

"They don't have credit chips installed in them, right?"

"No, they don't' have credit chips installed him them. Dumbarse".

"Sun, you douche bag! She doesn't have any currency! How can she buy anything if she got no money?"

Sunstreaker was quiet for a moment as he slowly realised what his twin was getting at.

"And not to mention, human shop keeps don't like dirty humans coming in their establishments, and BreezyDogBusiness is filthy as a Decepticon brothel!!"

"So… did we just get…"

"FUCK! WE GOT HORNSWOGGLED BY A DIRTY, WASTE COVERED, OVARY CARRYING FLESHY!!"

Sunstreaker screamed as he transformed and leapt onto the pavement amongst the throng of humans who were carrying assortments of useless items, several of them swore at him, several rushed off, several fell over, thankfully none were splattered.

"Yeah! We better get in after … waitasec… hornswoggled?"

"NOT NOW DOUCHE BOT!"

Sunstreaker ran straight at the large doors, which didn't quite register his appearance and so didn't open, but glass doors were no threat to an Autobot, especially a surly one who's paint job was already compromised!

The smash of glass and the screams, and swears, of those humans behind her told her they'd figured out her game and were giving chase. She shrugged off the opportunity to throw around a few profanities and continued running, barefoot, through the busy and crowded store. She could see a large sign at the back of the shop that indicated the stock room; hopefully she could get out into the loading bay and escape from there into the back lanes of the large city. A toilet suddenly went flying by her head and slammed into a large display of bedding, it bounced off one of the larger singles and then shattered on the floor, the quaint smelly toilet bowl freshener, added for decoration no doubt, skidded across the fall catching an old lady under her heel, she fell, breaking a hip the contents of her old lady purse spilled out of the broken zip. A passerby to the shenanigans reached down and scooped up her wallet.

"HEY! You bastard! Give that back!"

The old woman, although unable to stand, was certainly able to pick up a downed urinal cake and threw it at the escaping thief, she nailed him in the back of the head and he lost balance and fell into a group of children who were poking their hands into the waterbed. Screams from angry parents, upset children, old angry ladies with fractured hips and then a shop assistant who over the loud speaker announced "clean up in isle five".

Snowbird was undeterred by the sudden obstacle and kept towards the back. Sunstreaker of course was now able to see the commotion and the dirty, smelly hippy high tailing it towards the exit.

"SIDESWIPE! GET YOUR AFT AROUND THE BACK OF THE STORE!"

He roared at his twin through their internal communicator.

With a rather large twinge of rage passing through him he kicked the nearest object, the water bed, the mattress, filled with water, disconnected from the base and went flying up into the air before striking the ceiling then becoming a victim to gravity it plunged to the ground where it landed with such force it did what most water bed mattresses filled with water would do when they smacked into the ground after a ten metre fall. It ruptured. A large amount of water spewed out in every which direction, knocking over more old ladies and anyone else who wasn't quick enough to jump out of the way of the small inside tsunami. The base of the bed didn't go as high, but it went a further distance. The clerk at the back of the shop where lay buys were processed saw what was coming his way, in all his breaking voiced glory, pimples and greasy hair he jumped out of the way with a equally girly scream, his adolescent development forgotten. The base of the bed smashed into the cash registered and through a large panel that divided the shop from the stock room.

And it was about that time the looting started.

Sunstreaker ignored the humans clambering about the ruining shop for the small pieces of paper and other shiny objects that grabbed their attention like some kind of crowbot. What he should have been doing was paying attention to where he was going, with so many little creatures and their little possessions and little thingies about the place, he didn't think to keep an eye on where is feet were going, so when he put his foot down once again in his pursuit of the dirty hippy lady he landed on a trolley. Ordinarily it would not have taken his weight, had he completed the movement and crushed it under foot as it ventured to the ground, instead the metal handle bar poked him and it caused him to hesitate which resulted in the wheels taking enough mementos to cause him to slip. He fell backwards and while doing so heard many a human scream – he hoped against hope that he didn't land on any, not out of any concern for their lives but out of concern for the mess and stench they tended to leave when they were dispatched in such a downward motion.

Thankfully, for everyone concerned, Sunstreaker didn't take out any humans in his fall. He just lay there staring up at the ceiling, a few good Cybertronian swears passing over his lip components.

"See what its like you nickel plated bastard! I hope you bust your fucking arse bones and have to end up pissing into a bag for the rest of your life you ungrateful fridge magnet!"

Sunstreaker turned his head to see who was dissing him and found the old lady with the fractured hip lying a few metres to his left at optic level.

She tossed her cane at him. It got him in the optic. It hurt.

"You saggy bitch!"

He growled as he sat up and turned to face the grumpy human female.

"Oh yeah? What you gonna do sissy boy? You think you're scary? You're yellow for fuck's sake! What sort of fucking robot is yellow? Are you some kind of Nancy boy? Is that it? Are you a robosexual?"

She yelled at him, her dentures moving unnaturally within her mouth, evidencing that they were not well fitted… or not hers.

He was inwardly surprised at her insults towards him and actually respected her for her bravery, or perhaps it was stupidity… or what was it that struck Sparkplug? Senility? He couldn't be sure. But what he was sure of was the damn dirty stinkin' hippy ape was out of the store. Hopefully Sides could grab her.

Sunstreaker was up on his feet and running towards the back of the store, pushing out of his way all manner of human merchandise, and the occasional human. He tore through the back wall and into the stock room; most of the shelving had collapsed from the various shockwaves his falls and antics had caused to rattle through the place. The back loading doors were wide open and a truck was parked there, tilted on its side against the concrete level. There were no humans anywhere. Just a lot of mess. He could hear the human masses really start to get into mischief, and his audios quickly alerted him to the sounds of sirens. The human authorities were on their way, and if they showed up and got a good look at him, well, that colossal prick Magnus wouldn't be happy.

"SIDES!"

He roared as he stepped outside the large doors.

"I lost her, Sunny, that dirty human has given us the slip".

"FUCK!"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Six**

**22****nd**** December**

**1830hrs**

"…and the collateral damage?"

Chip reached into the slot and grabbed the stale looking muesli bar… well… chocolate bar with nuts and raisins… his ears perked up as he heard Magnus' gruff voice.

"Well, thankfully no fatalities, but there was quite a number of broken limbs, some internal bleeding, lots of scratches and bruises and something called a "heart attack", what a heart is and why it would attack a human is beyond my comprehension but the local law authority is less then impressed. There's a number of human groups who are not our biggest fans and this event plays right into their hands".

Kup explained.

Chip remained still, which was difficult, given his recent experience. He pretended to be engrossed in the objects in the vending machine so they wouldn't think he was eaves dropping. However, it wouldn't take much for trained optics, or any optics or eyes, to notice he was twitching, his hair unkempt as it had dried without being combed first.

After the "event" in the forest he'd been dropped off outside one of the entrance gates into the alien facility, the "ghost hunters" had, for lack of a better term, "chickened out", Ainsley was a mess, Wade was shaking and sobbing intermittently and both were going to take a very messy Ethan to the hospital – he was still unconscious. Chip had wheeled himself along quiet service lanes and made it into the labs and repair bay facility where thankfully he hadn't run into First Aide, he could just imagine the bullocking he'd get from that guy, he was no Ratchet, but could rail when provoked significantly. Perceptor was in there somewhere but was too engrossed in his work, as per usual, to notice the mess and stench that wheeled through.

Chip made it to his office, complete with his own toilet and shower facilities, which both he used liberally. Half way through his fourth soaping he started to weep, it was a strange kind of emotional outlet. He'd cried before, plenty of times, he wasn't ashamed to admit to that, at funerals for friends, family members, when he was in pain, when he was a young child and the diagnosis was made that he'd NEVER walk, but the tears that flowed down his face that mingled with the soap and the shower water, they were different. He couldn't pick a word to give as a description. Maybe he could argue they were tears of fear, could someone cry if they got scared enough, well, children could, but could an adult? He wasn't an expert on the finer points of human emotional expression but under such circumstances who the heck was?

So he had sat in the shower, on his little shower chair, the water having long ago washed away the sludge and foul stench of death, but he still felt dirty. Still felt polluted and violated and unable to get clean of anything. And he was still confused and now very much frightened as to what would happen now. He didn't know if he should tell Perceptor, but he did plan on hunting down Rodimus and asking him about the mass grave. He'd probably not know maybe, Magnus definitely would, but he couldn't quite see the City Commander letting go of that secret. Kup might drop a few hints in amongst some story from his well painted youth. He had passed the shampoo through his hair again and felt the pang of hunger.

"…Those two are becoming a hindrance. I'd like to order full use of force to apprehend them, but I'm sure that won't go down as a moral boaster with the troops, so, instead, I will _suggest _it".

Magnus stated, his voice cold.

Chip's memories had taken him away from sections of the conversation, but he found he could still follow along quite well. His clean fingers struggled to get the wrapped off. Thankfully it didn't make all that much noise –of course what he considered quiet was easily picked up by an Autobot with well tuned audio sensors.

"Lad, to be honest, those two maniacs could have killed innocent humans, there's a certain behaviour that has to be adhered to, they know the rules, and despite what's wrong with them, it doesn't give them an excuse to do go roughshod around the place. If some poor innocent human had been killed, well, that would have been a PR disaster. I would think "order" would be a completely appropriate response".

Chip felt a chill run down his spine, were those two really having a discussion about offlining the twins? Sure, what they had done sounded rather serious and could have resulted in a fatality… but if they were experiencing anything even remotely similar to what Chip had just witnessed, he didn't blame them. He paused. Could that be what was wrong with the Twins? They were haunted? Chip had to stop himself for a moment, unable to recall if he had had this conversation with someone, or anyone. He didn't like his mind to not be clear and well structured, following a logically determined and planned flow. It was a frightening situation to be in.

The two bots walked off, discussing matters which may or may not have been related to the Twins, they had left the range of Chip's human hearing. He took the opportunity to go hunt down Rodimus now.

**2014 hrs**

After waiting for an hour to be allowed to see Rodimus he was given motion by the Prime's "secretary". He expected a longer wait.

"Chip, what can I do for you my man?"

The brightly painted Autobot commander asked. Chip hadn't known him very well when he was Hot Rod, Spike had reported that he and Daniel were good friends so Spike was able to relay a few interesting titbits about the young mech's behaviour. According to Spike, Rodimus was changed in that he was more burdened with leadership and it took a great deal of his time, but he still kept his easy going, fun loving demeanour and did still have contact with Danny. But all in all, Chip didn't consider himself Rodimus' "man".

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice and at such an insane time, Prime".

The human began.

"No problem".

Rodimus sat back against the window sil. It was a large window and during the day would have provided a great view of the centre court of the city and the vast and refreshingly green forest and natural outlay of the mountains and hills that surrounded the Autobots' city. Of course, at night, the shapes of the trees could only be seen by a keenly tuned optic as the brightness of the city would cause the natural world to disappear in the ink.

"Now, ah, this is a tricky question, but it is one that is of utmost importance to something Perceptor and I are working on, so I really would appreciate your honestly".

"Um… okay".

Rodimus wasn't sure what the question was going to be, but had the distinct feeling it wouldn't be one he'd really want to answer.

"Are there any mass graves of human remains near here?"

He asked.

"Any mass graves that you guys know about but didn't tell the human authorities?"

The Prime was quiet for a moment and looked down at the floor.

"Please, Prime, I need to know. I'm not interested in going public I just need to know".

Rodimus remained silent and stared intently at the floor. A few minutes passed, during which time Chip didn't take his eyes from the mech, and Rodimus didn't move a bolt.

"Truth is, Chip, we were quite shocked by what we found when we started digging through the rubble".

He kept looking down.

"We had already released an "official" human death toll and the authorities were happy with that. It was a nice small number, one they could deal with and not get their panties in a collective bunch. A number that wouldn't anger the public so much that they'd start up those anti-Autobot rallies again, like what we saw in the 80s".

"So it's a conspiracy?"

Chip wasn't even sure if he should ask, but he was more stunned then accusatory.

"Yeah, if you wanna call it that. On paper, the human death toll is 1,024 people. In reality that's the number of people we can put a name too, but the real toll is about 4,359 – and that's full bodies, we had huge amounts of body parts we couldn't ID correctly, in the vicinity of 1,784 body parts".

"Holy God! Prime! How the hell does the general public not know that many are gone? Surely people out there must be missing friends, family?"

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought, and that's what I said quite a number of times, but because a lot of the little human settlements nearby were decimated, we think that entire family groups and social networks were taken out, so there really isn't anyone left to remember or notice someone is missing. But I honestly don't think that everyone believes it all. There are people out there who will know that friends and family are missing and that they died here, but they have no remains, no grave, so they're just getting on with their lives, or perhaps they haven't realised it yet. It hasn't been that long".

Rodimus continued to look down, he seemed ashamed, or at the most that he wasn't comfortable with discussing this, perhaps he wasn't happy with how the situation had evolved. Perhaps he was against the methods employed by others in the Brass to keep the real number down.

"Rodimus, people need a physical form to grieve over, its not good for emotional health to try and move on without a body, a grave, even a piece of skin. People need closure. Even after 9/11 fingers and tiny little bits of people were returned to families and that was usually all they needed to move on… well… you know what I mean… to have something tangible to grieve".

Prime sighed and looked up from the floor and over at the human.

"How many graves are there around the place, Rodimus? And where?"

Chip asked.

"Honestly, I'm not sure, but I think there's three really big ones, the biggest is up north-east up by look out mountain. One on the Western side, it contains all those limbs and parts we couldn't give to any corpse in particular. There's one about 10Ks south it has a good chunk of full corpses so badly damaged that they couldn't be IDed".

Chip felt his blood chill as Prime mentioned the Western grave.

"Why are you interested in this anyway?"

Rodimus asked.

"You'd think I was crazy if I told you, but Perceptor and I are working on something".

"Has it got anything to do with all the strange… _happenings _about the place?"

Rodimus inquired.

"What do you mean?"

Chip asked, sure that he did know what the Autobot meant.

"I've heard rumours, whispers in the rec room and spoken in hushed vocals in the backrooms of the Brass. I may be completely out of my league with this leadership thing, but I'm not that dense that I don't' notice when my staff are talking about ghosts".

The use of the word "G" word caused a wad of spit to get caught in the human's throat as he attempted to swallow his nervousness. He gave a slight cough and dislodged it easily.

"Is that what you and Percy are wasting time on? Ghosts?"

Rodimus said it with a hint of amusement, as if knowing the greatest and most logical mind on Cybertron, working on the concept of dead people walking about scaring the living was some kind of cosmic joke.

Chip wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"You know, just between you me, and probably Perceptor cos I reckon you'll tell him, those crazy twins were reporting that they were seeing ghosts, or at least that's what they were implying when they sat in their padded cells screaming like a Qyn'Rox".

Chip didn't know what a Qyn'Rox was but figured it must be something like a banshee or something that screamed nasty.

"Chip, I'd be the last person on this planet or anywhere to tell you that ghosts are real, but what I do know is there's a vast universe out there so it stands to reason there are going to be friends no one knows about or can understand. I'm not going to be arrogant enough to say they don't exist. Whatever you and Percy need to research this or get to the bottom of these shenanigans, well, you got it".

"Thanks Prime".

Chip looked up at the leader, who seemed to have the expression on his face that he had something else he wanted to say. Chip was certain of that but was uncertain how to ask and so didn't. Rodimus expressed that he was busy and now he had to get back to work, Chip agreed and smiled politely and then headed back to the lab to have an uncomfortable discussion with Perceptor.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

**22****nd**** December**

**2154hrs**

"Chip! What are you doing here? Its ten o'clock at night!"

"Actually, its 9.54pm".

"Chip".

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him.

"We had this discussion, I don't like that pedantic side of you".

"That's why you dumped me, I get it".

"And yet here you are at nine fifty fo…"

She glanced over her shoulder to see the clock.

"Nine fifty five PM".

"I've had some troubles lately; I just need a good night's sleep".

"And you want to bed down here, is that right?"

"I'm sorry, Jamie, I know its late and I know you're busy and you've probably got yourself a new boyfriend, man, whatever, but please, just this once, I promise".

"Chip, you're begging, I don't like begging".

"Sorry".

"Don't be sorry, just don't do it".

There was a horribly uncomfortable silence between there. Her breath was hot against the chill of the winter night; his was directed into his scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

"What do you want?"

She asked when she got sick of the silence.

"Just a couch to sleep on".

"I thought you said you wanted a _good_ night's sleep".

She grumbled sarcastically.

"Some strange things have been happening lately, at Autobot City and at my home, I haven't been able to sleep in either place".

"Its my experience that strange happenings tend to follow you about the place, Chip and with that said, what's to say it won't follow you here? And I have to be completely honest with you, Chip; I don't want any type of your _strange happenings _being anywhere near _my _house".

Chip looked defeated, and a little disappointed, he began to pivot his chair on the path in front of the steps.

"Look, I have a small house that I've just gotten, its insured but its in need of some work".

She said suddenly.

"It won't be comfortable, it'll be a little cold and drafty, but it might give you the good night's sleep you want".

Her voice softened.

"Let me get the key".

Chip smiled to himself.

"Wipe that grin off your mug".

She called out from somewhere within the front lounge.

Jamie returned within a few moments with a key attached to a piece of cardboard by a rubber band, on a piece of paper was written an address.

"Like I said, it ain't the Ritz".

--

**2247hrs**

Jamie hadn't been kidding. The place was a dump. It had a series of wooden steps leading up to the house that for intents and purposes should have been condemned years ago. He literally had to forgo his dignity and leaver himself up onto the hand rail and shimmy along until he reached the door. The key was a little stiff in the lock and it took a few jiggles to get it opened. It creaked open and revealed a rather unpleasant looking mess. In the dim light that forced itself from the street lights he was able to see heavy canvas sheets covering blobs of old furniture.

Chip turned and got back on the rail and down towards his chair. He sat himself on the damp concrete that was half covered in long dirty grass. He collapsed his mobility and then with a rather unnatural upper body strength hurled it up towards the door, it landed about 20cm in the house. He clambered back up the steps and then opened his chair again. It was a pretty sturdy design; it was probably one of the few things Wheeljack had created that hadn't exploded on the testing grounds. He wheeled himself towards the power box with the assistance of a torch and threw the mains switch, a humming sound passed through the house and he hoped he didn't blow the place up because of faulty wiring. With some nervousness he switched on the main light and the place showed its true state.

It was just as unpleasant in the light as it was in the dark. He wheeled about the lower floors, unable of course, to get up the stairs, which when he sat at the bottom of staring up at, he wouldn't be too keen to attempt them even if his legs did work. It took him eight minutes and thirteen seconds to make the discovery that there was no inside toilet, and that if nature called him, he was going to have drag himself down the seven rather uneven concrete and wooden steps, somehow get through the long dead grass that ruptured out of the deadish looking earth and pry the handle less door open to get into the outhouse.

Seesh, Jamie wasn't kidding.

Well, he came to sleep, not poop in an outhouse, and if need be, he'd just prop himself up on the porch and let her rip into the bushes.

A rather crass thought, he reflected. He took the sleeping bag out from the pouch that dangled on the back of his chair, and then removed the small pillow. He lay them down on the tiled floor of the kitchen, as he knew fleas couldn't live on tiles. Ants, roaches, spiders, mice, rats, _those _things could scurry about at any time of the night, but as long as they stayed confined to the part of his body he couldn't sense very well.

When he woke, he was unsure of the time, though realised it'd have to be early morning, perhaps two, three AM. He had a horrid pain in his shoulder and the most awful pins and needles in his right arm. The house was freezing and he rolled uncomfortably onto his back in an attempt to find a more comfortable part of the tile floor to lie upon. There standing above his head was a man. The elderly gentleman was looking down at him and while the expression on his face was not hiding any thought of malice, he did look surprised at his discovery of this man on the floor of his kitchen.

"Um… hi".

Chip stated, looking up.

"Salutations".

The elderly man replied.

"Can I be rude and ask, who are you?"

The man in discomfort asked.

"Why, good sir upon my floor, my name is Bradley Stewarts and I am the owner of this property you have decided to squat within".

His words came with an accent that was too proper to be American but yet at the same time, still carrying a twinge of a Texan.

"Are you sure?"

Chip pushed himself up with sore arms and turned to face the man, well, as much as a man who couldn't stand could face another.

"I'd be so certain as to this fact, young man. I have just came down from the stairs to see what commotion my lady bride was expressing with much hysterics".

The man stood there and then reached into his pocket and removed a fob watch.

"But Jamie said she owned this place… maybe I'm in the wrong house, I did have trouble getting the key in the lock".

"Perhaps you be in the wrong house, and I do not know any woman by the name of Jamie, I know a woman by the name of Jane, a fine woman indeed, and one I would hope with much sincerity to God that one of my sons would settle with her. She would bear many fine grandchildren for me".

The man beamed with a kind of pride.

"Look, I'm really sorry, I must be in the wrong place, I'll get out".

"Oh! That will not do! I have a reputation in this town as a man of generous heart, if but one of my pesky neighbours were to view me casting a man of such curse out into the chill of the winter air, and so close to Christmas! No sir! I will be no such man! I will allow you to stay within my abode until such time as you sort out your proper location and discuss it in detail with this woman Jamie. And come morning, my lady bride, shall cook you a mighty feast of a breakfast to aide you in your pursuits! However, I must lament that there is no way I can assist you up the stairs as I am but an old man with an old and creaky back. There is a couch in the parlour on which you can rest your weary head".

"Oh, no, no, I'm quite fine where I am here. But thank you so much for your generosity. I haven't had much sleep lately".

"This I can note about you, Chip, it is quite evident from the heavy bags you have placed under your eyes. Now, sleep easy, Chip, my guest, I would ask nothing else of you and expect nothing less of the guests I welcome into my home".

The man turned and walked from the kitchen, his footsteps padding softly with a slight click as the heel touched.

"Sleep well, good guest Chip".

He said as he passed through the door way and into the lounge where his footsteps were lost upon the carpet.

Chip lay himself down and realised how embarrassing the situation he was in. He was going to have to talk to Jamie about how he came to be in the wrong house!! And he certainly wouldn't tell Percy or any one else for that matter. He was supposed to be a highly intelligent man, so to screw up with something as simple as getting the right house.

Poor old man, lucky he didn't have a heart attack, he could have died!!

--

**Author's NB: **I don't know. I've had horrid writer's block on this story. I know where it's going, I just gotta get there. But after this chapter, I've figured out how to sort the stuff out.

Anyway, this was a story a friend of mine told me a few years back. He was kinda drunk at the time when he crashed in an old condemned house. He woke up in the morning and had a conversation with a guy he thought was the owner. There was mention of stairs. When he sobered up in the morning he remembered the entire conversation and noticed there were no stairs, no owner, and no one. The house was totally empty!!

There were other stories going about the neighbourhood about _that_ particular house, it was a little too close to a place called the "Hanging Tree" (you can probably guess why), so yeah, it was the local haunted shanty.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

**23****rd**** December**

**0430hrs**

"How the hell can humans call this waste fuel?"

"I dunno, bro, I try not to think about it, but the mini ones seem to like it a lot, especially the ones that come in those packs with the toys".

"Its gross, Sides, just gross. Look at it, its put grease all over my fingers and its not even a good sort of grease".

Sunstreaker flung the hand full of "burgers" at the wall of the human fuelling station. Most of them sticking to it and then each slowly, at their own time, flopping down to the floor. They had certainly made a rather large mess.

"Hahah, just think, Magnus would blow a tonne of gaskets out his aft if he saw the mess we're making".

Sideswipe chuckled as he wrote a Cybertronian profanity into the sauce he'd poured on the counter.

"Oh yeah!! Hahahah!"

The golden twin laughed loudly as he stood slowly from the floor, knocking over a few tables and chairs as he did.

"What are we going to do, Sides? That hippy bitch has taken off, the Autobots are hunting us, and offline sparks or something, I dunno know, and I know you sure as hell don't know, are haunting us!"

Sunstreaker said it with a hint of seriousness which was oftentimes foreign to him outside of the confines of the battlefield.

"Let's kidnap Percy".

Sideswipe said, purely as a joke.

Sunstreaker looked at him for a moment, his right optic ridge slowly rising.

"That's not such a bad idea".

"What?!! I was joking, bro!! And even if I wasn't, we can't exactly just walk back into Autobot City; something tells me they've cancelled our subscription".

"Oh bullshit, as the blobs say, they wouldn't dare, they need us, once this is all sorted out they'll have us back on the battlefield blasting holes through Cons and generally doing all that crap none of those arrogant brass bastards will admit we do! Now, let's nab Percy and hope like the pit he can figure it out before that slaggin' mutt Magnus figures it all out".

Sunstreaker spoke with a true vehemence.

His brother sighed, and realised that he better just accept his smart aft remark was now going to be their plan. He'd learnt that many times, that once his brother got something in his mind nothing was going to change it. And it sounded like they were going to kidnap the Autobot scientist. Of course, it wasn't exactly going to be a hard job.

**0629hrs**

The fact Perceptor hadn't been in his lab had riled up Sunstreaker like no bodies' business. He roared out a string of foul words then fired his laser into a shelf full of digipads before he leapt up on the table and started kicking off scientific equipment. His brother just sighed. Again.

"Sun, we gotta get out of here; you're making so much noise that Unicron will be able to hear it from beyond the gr…"

Sideswipe stopped before he could mention the fact, it was just too odd and oh so creepy to even think about the afterlife, especially given their recent experiences. He knew what they were dealing with were ghosts. The ghosts of who or what he didn't know and didn't want to know, he just wanted them to leave him alone.

"Where the slag would he go? Its not like he has a femme or a life, he's just a looser, a looser with no life and no chance of getting 'faced!!"

Sunstreaker roared. Sideswipe reached up and punched his brother in the back of the knee, causing the golden twin to fall forward and onto the floor.

"Get up and hurry up, we're leaving".

"And do what?"

"Go check out a few of that geek bot's hau… ah..."

Sideswipe wasn't able to get out his replacement word.

"You two!! Big trouble!"

The big green triple changer stood in the door of the now messy laboratory.

"Bring it on BITCH!!"

Sunstreaker screamed and jumped over the table at him.

"SUNSTREAKER! NOOO!"

Sideswipe squealed, a little to girlishly for his liking, but thankfully the other two were too busy engaged in their fisty cuffs to notice. IT wasn't that Sideswipe was concerned the green mech could damage his brother, it was just more to the fact that it was going to be a loud skirmish that would grab attentions and next thing they'd know they'd be getting strapped into a defragger and lo and behold no more memory files.

He did what was becoming an annoying habit, but one which seemed required to hang around with his twin, he sighed, then ran into the fray.

Sunstreaker was busy getting his abdomen smacked by Springer's large left fist, while the green mech's right arm was wrapped around the twin's neck. Sunstreaker had ignored any sort of honour code and was punching Springer in the crotch, attempting to get the plating off with intent of really doing some damage. Arcee would be pissed if he succeeded, but he had better things to concern himself with then that stuck up bitch's skanky exploits. Sideswipe jumped up onto the triple changer's shoulders and started slapping the sides of his head.

"Seriously?"

The target asked with a chuckle as he shrugged his shoulders flicking the red twin back several metres and he slammed into the wall. Sideswipe groaned with annoyance and then got back up and ran straight at the mech. Sunstreaker had changed his tactics and was now punching Springer in the side of the arm that was holding his neck.

Sideswipe dived onto the ground and slid along the floor until he slammed his fists into the backs of Springer's knees. The mech lost his balance, his grip on Sunstreaker and went down. He turned with intent to get back into it, when he received a shattering blow from both of Sunstreaker's fists interlocked into a huge ball of power and rage. It wasn't enough to knock the mech out, but it did throw him back off balance and sent him sprawling onto the floor.

"You little slags! Big, big trouble!"

He pointed at them from the ground with a thick finger and then was about to get back up, but found he had a slight difficulty with his equilibrium. The twins both tackled him and started pummelling at his face.

"Come on bro, we gotta knock him out!"

Sideswipe yelled, more from desperation then any real need to do malice to their fellow Autobot.

"On it!"

Sunstreaker stood up and the bought his foot down on triple changer's face.

It took eight such blows and a multitude of punches from Sideswipe to Springer's arms in an attempt to keep them from being automatically thrown up to stop Sunny's foot, to knock the Aerial commander into temporary status.

"Oh Primus".

Sideswipe slumped back on his hands and aft and just sat there staring at the unconscious mech.

"We are in so much trouble".

He added.

"Whatever".

Sunstreaker just grumbled as he wiped a string of energon from his lip components and along his chin.

"Now what?"

"We go find the geek".

"I mean, with him".

"We leave him here".

"Sunny!"

"Well what do you want me to say? That we take Springer along with us, and when he wakes up we have a nice girly chat and he understands, forgives us for the pummelling and then comes with us to convince Percy to help us? Yeah, I can see all that happening according to plan and without compromise".

"No need to be sarcastic".

"Look, if you wanna drag him along, fine, but that guy weighs a heap!"

"Well, if we leave him he'll wake up and confirm to the brass that it was us, and then they'll offline us for sure. If we take him with us, well, he might wake up, but we can just get Percy to short him until we have what we need to convince everyone we're not insane".

"Honestly, Sides, do you listen to yourself when you speak? Do you think things through before you activate your vocaliser? Cos sometimes, Sides, I have to wonder. Don't strain your linkage".

He turned and walked out of the lab.

Sideswipe reached down and grabbed a green limb and started pulling. His brother wasn't kidding, Springer was heavy.

**0803hrs**

Sideswipe had managed to trip Springer's circuits into Transform, a useful skill he'd learnt on the battlefield from an older warrior, now with the Matrix, who said it was easier to get your comrades out of there while they were rolling. It certainly worked for comrades you had knocked out with a decent beating and were now kidnapping to then go find and kidnap another comrade.

Oh, all of this was not going well. Sideswipe thought as he accelerated onto the motorway towards a base Perceptor was known to frequent when he needed to get away. It was once a Decepticon stronghold, but they abandoned it once they had their undersea base, and it was certainly not going to be used of late by any con. It as just logistically non-viable for them since the undersea base. It'd take a good three hours drive to get there, and he hoped with every second they wouldn't be picked up on radar or seen by any Autobot. Sunstreaker had attempted to reassure the red twin that this wouldn't happen as he'd made sure their signals would be masked as human signals and so the new Teletran's radar would not pick them up. Sideswipe had made a comment about Springer's signal and Sunstreaker shrugged, saying he would probably be believed to be off shagging some cheap whore bot. What about Arcee, Sides had followed up with? Who do you think I meant? Was the reply from his golden brother.

**1156hrs**

Springer came round.

He found his arms held above his head by rather staunch looking chains.

He was on his knees and they were a little sore… on that note, his shoulder struts gave a little protest, but neither protest was as loud, or as sore to him to the party of agony that danced across his face plates.

"slag".

It sounded louder and more forceful, even a tad humorous, in his head. Outside his mouth, however, it was quiet and feeble and didn't grab the attention of his captors.

He tried to think how he ended up here. The large Decepticon insignia on the wall was a giant clue as to his location, but it looked faded, and in fact, as his optics began to stabilise he was able to notice that the purple face was faded and in parts chipped, and some portions had even fallen away to make an untidy little pile on the floor below. Galvatron was gone. He was no concern to them, and even if he did come back, he wasn't strong enough, his forces not strong or organised enough to start up back on earth. No, this place was old and had been empty of Cons for some time.

Upon turning his head to the left he saw his captors. Those bastard twins.

"Stop punching yourself! Stop punching yourself! Why are you punching yourself? Don't be mean to yourself, Perce, stop punching yourself".

The scientist was certainly not punching himself. Sunstreaker had firmly grasped the wrist of the sometimes apparently feeble intellect and was forcing it into Perceptor's face, essentially making him hit himself. It was childish really.

"What the pit are you slags doing?"

Springer was surprised, pleasantly so, at how strong his voice came out, especially after being so meek just a few moments before.

"Oh, sleeping beauty awakes!"

Sunstreaker walked over to him and looked down at him.

"Now, are you going to shut your yap, or am I going to have knocked you back into stasis again?"

Springer just glared at the Twin.

"Sunny".

Sideswipe said softly.

"Let's go do that thing…"

He said it kinda hushed.

The two looked at their "guests" and then left.

"We'll be right outside, and there's only one exit, so make sure you don't' try anything cos if you do… POW!"

The golden twin poked his head back in through the doorway and growled at them before disappearing. It was then Springer noticed that Perceptor was welded to the floor, and rather crudely at that.

"Perceptor, what the slag is going on?"

"The twins believe they are being haunted by ghosts".

"Ghosts? What? That's insane!!"

"No, Springer, its not".

Perceptor was of course unable to face the triple changer, but Springer could see that Perceptor was working with something.

"What do you mean its not?"

He asked, wondering about how hard the scientist had to be whacked to get him here.

"I believe them. There are ghosts at Autobot City. There are ghosts haunting the Twins. There are ghosts everywhere Springer! EH HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

**23****rd**** December**

**1201hrs**

The City commander sat at his desk, elbows resting on the desk, his left hand placed limply over his right, the right hand clasping gently his left thumb, he was slightly leaned forward and hunched so his nose rested on the top of the left, his lips touching his thumbs. His optics staring ahead, not at the mechs in front of him, but beyond them.

"How interesting".

He said simply, still maintaining the position he'd taken less then a minute ago, just as the chronometer passed 1200hrs.

"Sir?"

The Commander didn't say anything, he just continued to sit the way he was, saying nothing, doing nothing, just staring ahead.

Jazz looked across at Kup who was standing on his right.

"Kup, they've officially stepped over the line".

Magnus stood from his position, his finger tips resting on the table as he looked at them.

"The line we discussed, Kup, they've crossed it".

"Yes lad".

There was a sadness to the old timer's voice and Jazz picked up on it.

Magnus removed the small digidisk from the player and flicked it so it skimmed across the desk; Kup picked it up and looked it over for a few moments, the desk having scuffed its once shiny surface.

"They've crossed the line. I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour. Prime will not tolerate this".

"Shouldn't we ask Rodimus that?"

Jazz asked, still not comfortable with calling the new leader Prime and he had to wonder if he ever could.

"Prime has more pressing matters which demand his attention; he has given full concern of this matter to me".

Magnus lifted his hands up and crossed his massive arms over his broad chest.

"Do you have a problem with that, _lieutenant_?"

He asked firmly.

"Well, as a matter of fact I do, _Sir, _I don't have to be no genius to figure out what you two peeps are jammin' about. You guys wanna offline the twins. Sure, they're not the most responsible and this event is just another in a long line of antics demanding reprimand, but an offlining? It won't go down well with the troops!"

"The troops will take down what I tell them to take down".

Magnus growled at him.

"This isn't a little picnic in the pleasure nebula, this is war, this is serious, we don't have time to adhere to some code of friendship you undisciplined whelps. Its commendable you obviously want to ensure the welfare of the subordinates and as you very keenly express you wish to have a good rapport with them, and that has its benefits on the battle field. But we must remove the rusted cogs from our machine; else we will not win this war".

Magnus walked out from behind his desk and strolled as if he were a man in a park and stood before the window, looking out over the city.

"But make no mistake, lieutenant, the war is still in motion, one victory against one Decepticon faction will not collapse their war effort, they will keep coming. And now we have new enemies that we must face, we have no time to ignore misalignments in our troop cache. And the twins are one such misalignment".

Jazz realised there was no arguing with him, and he realised he was more likely to benefit the twins if he still had those brandings of an officer. If he was busted down to the rank of some lowly recruit or droid then chances are there'd be nothing he could do to help those dunces.

"Yes Sir, I understand".

He said with an uncharacteristic depression.

"Dismissed".

Magnus stated suddenly and the two bots before him knew better then to stay around and have any further Q&A session.

Outside the office Kup and Jazz strolled along the corridor leading out into the main facility.

"You shut your yap just in time to keep your job, Lad".

Kup stated.

"You really think the twin's will get offlined?"

He asked in response, looking somewhat forlornly ahead.

"Dunno Lad, Magnus may be tough, but he's no monster, if those two wise up and surrender or get taken alive, Mag's won't have them in the chamber by the end of the hour. They'll spend some time in the brig, you and your chums from Optimus' team will nag Rodimus and Magnus and eventually they'll see the value of the twin's contribution to the war effort and they'll be out on the battlefield in no time".

"What you think made them flip their lids? You really think Perce is right about the whole split CPU thingie?"

Kup went quiet for a few moments, wondering if his recent experience and the screamed ramblings from the twins were connected, thinking better then to release such information to Jazz he replied that he wasn't sure, and it wasn't the place of a lowly solider with more dollars then cents to question a scientist of Perceptor's calibre.

**1238hrs**

Magnus had spent the past half hour pacing his office contemplating the actions of the twins and how best to deal with it. He also gave consideration to several recent attacks, possible Decepticon activities in a part of the quadrant that was too close to Earth. That was a whole heap of other trouble. Magnus reached over and picked up a mug of hot oil from his desk and gasped for a moment as he realised it was hotter then he had estimated. After a few small sips he placed it back down and cringed again at the absolute mess Optimus had made of this unit. Sure, Optimus was a great Autobot leader and would go down in history as probably the best, he'd served under this Prime, but Earth had made him soft. Maybe it was the stress of being away from his bond mate, maybe it was from his crew being up to shenanigans from sheer boredom, perhaps it due to the Decepticons being bored and being low in number and ability that they had lost their true understanding of the Decepticon cause, or maybe it was these natives. Magnus was well aware of Prime's relationship with humanity, and particular members of this odd little species. Whatever it was that had softened the crew, he hoped the surviving members of such would wake up to the true reality of war. This wasn't some polite little walk in the botanical gardens on Iacon. Primus, war isn't a game.

Something hit him.

Hard.

He spun around, his shoulder missiles ready to fire, even on the inside; the regimented cleanliness of his office took second place to any intruder. There was nothing or no one there… that he could see at least. On the floor, at his feet, was something small. He cautiously bent down to pick it up, his optics still scanning the room about him.

Picking it up in his bulky fingers he realised it was quite fragile, it had a dry sensation to it, it was brittle and something he'd never seen before, but something that was somehow familiar. He ran it through his databanks and then realised what it was.

A human skull.

"What in the name of Vector Sigma?"

He asked with complete and utter mortification that someone could throw a skull at him, a real skull. This was no plastic model found in the schools of human medicine, this was the real deal.

The back of the skull had been caved in, and while there were no fragments around his office to indicate such a break had occurred when it struck him, this was an injury that might had assisted in hurrying the owner of such towards their death. There were also blackened singe marks around the break. Maybe a laser blast or an explosion. It gave him a morbid fascination for a few moments, but then he realised he had more important things, finding the unpleasant individual who would desecrate a human grave and then throw someone's remains at him would have to wait, the twins were more important to be located. Of course, it could have been them, but his sensors would alert him to the fact if they came near.

He placed the skull on his desk and was about to contact someone to come clean it up when something hit him in the back of the leg. He turned quickly and saw on the floor another skull, the bottom half of it was missing, two empty sockets stared up at him, the rest of the face was gone.

"Who's there? Who's responsible for this? This is NOT funny!!"

He bellowed.

A skull then smashed into his forehead, small pieces of bone dropped down into his optics. He brushed them away, angry more then frightened at this point.

A bang.

He turned to the door that led to a closet in his office. It contained office supplies mostly and a few other trinkets but nothing that was contraband or inappropriate for an officer of his standing. He growled a string of words that were inappropriate for an officer of his standing and he went to open the door.

"You are in big trouble!"

He banged numbers into a coded entrance pad and the doors swished open.

He expected to find some cheeky young mech who'd lost a bet, was on a dare or was just out to cause some trouble. Maybe he'd get lucky and it'd be one of the twins, or both of them. Maybe it was a human with a sling shot and a tendency to be disrespectful to their dead.

Instead, what he found was a tsunami of skulls. They poured out over him, tens of thousands of them, perhaps even a hundred thousand. They wrapped themselves around his form, their fragile light weighted structures were able to push him down, he was stunned at the power they had, it wasn't right that they had such gravity, but they did. He was on the floor now, broken fragments of human life were grinding between him and the ground, they continued to stream out from the closet. He started yelling, they filled his mouth, he could taste them, smell them, feel them, and he could hear a sobbing in the background. The sobbing got louder and more precise, it was if a million human beings were lamenting all at once some terrible personal tragedy. It was loud. It was over powering. It stunk of death and he wanted it to stop.

At first he yelled at them, well, at whoever was responsible for such a morally repugnant prank.

Then he screamed at them, anger deep in his voice.

The he started screaming out of fear.

Then he started sobbing from the realisation that it wasn't going to stop because he was frightened or screaming.

He flailed his arms and legs about to try and dislodge the multitude of skulls from him but to no avail, they just kept coming. The sounds of them rolling, falling, sliding, breaking, rubbing against his metallic form, it was too much. He started crying for help, to Primus, to Kup, to his secretary, to the Twins, to anyone.

Just make it stop.

The ethereal weeping continued, it got louder, sharper, it tore into his audios and under the blanket of death he was able to feel a trickle of damp from his audios, energon, he was bleeding from the ears.

Oh Primus, please, please, make it stop. I beg you Primus.

He wasn't sure if he screamed it or thought it or what, but the door to the office came open. Magnus of course wasn't' aware of it, he was somewhere where there was no awareness of the physical world. Rodimus rushed over to the city commander who lay on his back, his arms and legs clawing at some unseen force. A fear so horrible Rodimus had never seen anything like it and never would again, etched on his faceplates.

And the screams.

They came straight out of the soul of that mech.

And it was then, Rodimus realised, something was really wrong with Autobot City.

"SOME ONE GET FIRST AID!!"

But he was pretty sure no one heard over Magnus' screaming.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

**22****nd**** December**

**2027hrs**

Chip had entered the lab at a few minutes before ten minutes till the change of the hour. Humans had such a simplistic yet rather convenient method to designate time, though, from what he'd come to understand, some of them still had difficulty keeping track of it.

The human simply asked outright, it was toned with such inflexions and low drops that it almost sounded as if he was making an accusation. Perceptor had put down the digipad he was studying; it had images from the human's culture that detailed demons drawn in the 1500s from Europe and more modern photographs, including one of a "Brown Lady" taken in England. Perceptor was yet to discover while "she" was deemed a lady, let alone brown. He'd turned to face down at the human who was still demanding an answer.

Had he known of the mass graves?

The Autobot had replied that he had heard rumours of it.

What do you mean rumours?

Chip had yelled angrily.

Perceptor tried to remain calm, he was aware that human culture, especially western cultures had issues dealing with death, and the concept of the mass grave was considered rather unpleasant and morally if not religiously repugnant to them.

He'd spoken calmly, explaining the need to take care of the number of human dead, not only as a method of infection control but also to ensure the humans assisting in reconstruction efforts did not discover any remains. He went onto give the human the "official line" that there were so many "remains" that they discovered after they truly thought they had returned to the human authorities the bodies of those who had died. It was a sad fact of war, and Chip of all people should understand that. Perceptor had continued with his usual string of long winded esoteric semantics and impeccable accent.

Chip realised he couldn't remain angry at Perceptor, certainly not if he was working with him, and if anything, this was important information relevant to their investigations. Chip pointed this out, feeling as if they'd had this conversation before, but if they had, Perceptor had said nothing. The scientist had learnt quickly that humans sometimes had a slight memory span, and even the healthy, young ones, could forget points within a conversation. It must have been a nuisance for them, he wondered, to forget information so quickly. Of course, they seemed to have a good memory of foodstuffs and anything that involved money or reproduction – of course, the Autobot knew better the to say those thoughts out loud, even in the company of his good friend.

Chip yawned, obviously tired, he said he needed a good night sleep and said he was going off site to find it. He didn't elaborate further and simply left, telling Perceptor he'd see him tomorrow and they'd see what else they could do, and perhaps they could have a meeting with some of the Brass. Chip made a quick mention of Rodimus' offer of assistance.

**2100hrs**

Perceptor raised an optic and mumbled to himself what an absolute bother clocks stopping suddenly were, especially after he had a run a systems check over all the external chronological metres the humans used. It made them feel at ease, and as they didn't have an internal clock they could refer to they needed an external source to tell them time. During his first few weeks on this world he'd wondered why humans just look at the sun and its position in the sky, it was Carly who explained to him that looking at the sun for an extended period not only painful for human eyes it could very seriously damage them, which of course lead Perceptor on an adventure of discovery of the human anatomy and form, he found the human body an absolutely amazing biological machine and was quite frankly, in awe of it. It was then Sparkplug who had told him that a few humans could tell the time quite precisely by the position of the sun, but they were few and far between indeed – he added his time in the service had made him one such human. The other point here was that a good majority of humans could guess the time to within a couple of hours, and if not all of them could tell it was midday if they'd been educated in school or by one in the know. So yes, that is why humans needed "clocks". Of course, the fact these things would often stop or break or not work correctly could be quite a nuisance.

But it helped make them comfortable.

Perceptor simply took the large clock down from the wall, wondering if the battery had died he scanned it, it was fine. He mmmed to himself and then ran a full scan of the clock.

"How odd".

He stated softly to himself as instead of the internal functioning of the clock being given to his CPU he was given static from the direction of the cheap device. He placed it in his "too do" pile – he didn't like to have things broken without a cause and without hope of repair. A thought passed through his CPU and he stood still for a moment a look of concern over his face. He marched intently across his lab and then rummaged through a mound of digipads nicely stacked until he picked one up, he ran his optics over it, scanning for something he was sure he read. And then he found it.

"…another very common indication of paranormal activity is a sudden disturbance to electrical equipment".

He read out loud to himself. He considered the clock and then wondered if it was perhaps just a coincidence. It wasn't like a human could climb up the wall and change the battery and he certainly wasn't interested in its maintenance… but then something had caused a static read out.

"…electrical equipment being used by paranormal investigators will often pick up drops in temperature, loud static or…"

"Oh my".

Perceptor took a slow look around the room, scanning as he did so. But there was no more static. Approaching the clock, he picked it up again and scanned it. That's when he noticed the "second hand" ticking around the clock again, the static gone. Perhaps it was just a temporary glitch in his own systems? He ran an internal scan which showed no quirk. Given his recent experiences he decided not to push the issues, as much as his personality circuits argued at him to do so. He returned to the digipads on his desk and picked up another, it had a series of religious literature discussing the matter of ghosts and hauntings. He scrolled through and as his optics scanned the letters on the seen he heard the whispers. He was very much aware immediately that they were not someone playing "cheeky buggers" and certainly not in his imagination. He knew what it was, and again, decided to ignore it. The whispers continued, but did not increase in speed, pitch or volume. They just sat there in the atmosphere about him, their conversation he was unable to translate, and part of him was thankful for that.

Hands were suddenly on him.

He froze.

The hands were gentle.

A hand on each shoulder.

He tried not to panic.

The thumbs of the hands brushed against his neck.

There was no malice.

Not yet, at least, he heard himself think.

They started to massage him.

It felt good, actually.

Comforting.

The whispers didn't seem to be apart of the entity "comforting" him.

The non-existent body seemed to lift above him so the hands were now pointed down on his chest and began to slide.

There was a chill that ran through every sensor on his body as the hands moved.

The chill was strange, it didn't seem to have the same sensation as something cold, but his body responded the same way as it would perhaps towards a physical crispness.

There was no visible evidence to say they were hands, but the way the sensation moved, the way the sensation was formed, everything about the sensation… they were definitely hands.

The whispers continued.

Above the crowd of non-sensical murmurs came words Perceptor was able to understand, clearly, perfectly.

_Perceptor._

It shocked him out of his current state of mind. His focus pulled from the hands.

_You're enjoying this. _

He felt guilty.

_You commit a grievous sin._

The whisper was louder, the whispers were louder, they were accusing him now. He didn't like that.

_Pervert._

He had been called a lot of things by a lot of individuals in his life, but never that word, never like this, and certainly not by "ghosts". Stepping forward, trying to escape the deathly caress of those hands.

"No".

He whispered back to them.

_YES!_

The desk in front of him shunted. Everything upon it went skidding off onto the floor and smashed at his feet. Digipads were sturdy, they could sustain a lot of force and remain functional, however, they looked as if they had fallen from the moon to the earth, they were essentially shattered, small sparks dancing over the cracks in their destroyed forms.

Perceptor stepped back from the carnage and decided to leave before the intruders got more _irritated. _But he walked back into something that felt, well, physical. He turned and saw nothing, but he felt the hands on his back this time, and a body against his front. The shape told him the visitor who was touching him so was a femme. Movement towards him and "she" was pressed so close to him he could feel her lips against his. Under any other circumstance where a femme embraced him in such a manner, it would have been pleasant. But the stench that came from her mouth, it travelled out from between those cold, dead, invisible lips and wrapped itself around his olfactory sensors. It was disgusting. It smelt like every creature on the earth had died and then spent three weeks in the summer's heat, slowly decomposing, maggots and flies and any other organism that saw fit to survive by feasting on the dead. It also had the tinge of metallic death, as if mixed into a throng of dead humans were dead mechs and femmes, it carried that nasty rust stench. He wanted to void his holding tanks, out of his mouth.

The Autobot scientist pulled back, or attempted to, but found himself trapped against the ghostly invader. Its hands crept down his back and then reached his aft, they groped it and he was sure the whispers were speeding up, that some were laughing, and not in a good way towards him. It was a callous kind of laugh, it was drenched with malice and hatred and distain and it wanted him to suffer, to be shamed.

His armour was ripped from his aft and suddenly found himself flying through the air where he then slammed into the wall; he slumped down on the ground landing on the pile of broken smouldering digipads. A sob past from him, a sob of both fear, pain and shock. He rolled onto his hands and knees and scurried towards his discarded aft plate. He would make contact, but not in the way he wanted. It was used by the force so malice to strike him across the face. The power behind him flung him over onto his back where he lay stunned for a few moments, he sobbed again, a few times in a row. All he could do was sob, it seemed.

"Please… please, please just leave me be".

He was weeping now.

The whispers changed.

He could hear them now.

_He's a coward._

_A fool._

_He's not intelligent, he's just an idiot._

_Yes, yes, he's ignorant._

_Ignorant of many things._

_He's a stupid idiot, a stupid moron._

_Absolutely!  
_

_No intelligence whatsoever._

_A dunce!_

_A fool!_

_He is truly pathetic._

_What a small mind, he has no gift of intelligent, he's just arrogant._

_He's not special._

_He's nothing worthwhile._

_What a fool._

_Who did you have to _**fuck**___to get this job?_

_He's not special._

_He's ignorant of so many things._

_Of everything._

_  
Yes, yes, of everything._

_Stupid._

_Moron._

_Idiot._

_Fool._

_Dunce._

_Ignoramus. _

_Imbecile._

_We should kill him._

_Yes, yes, put him out of his misery._

_NO! Don't kill him, it'd be funnier to watch him go insane._

_He's already insane._

_No, no, you mustn't confuse insanity with stupidity._

_He's just stupid._

The insults drifted off into the incoherent whispers that continued at a rather loud volume.

The hands were back on him now, on his face, on his neck, they squeezed tightly and when Perceptor put his hands up to fight off his assailant he found he made contact with nothing. His scientific mind twisted with the incomprehensible situation that his neck could feel physical form but his own hands when reaching out to the source of such an attack, could not.

He wept.

"Please, please".

He begged.

"Just stop".

Cold lips embraced his, a freezing tongue forced itself into his mouth and he tasted the smell. The smell of death was now dancing across his mouth's sensors and it was abhorrent. His holding tanks protested and then won, his recent fuelling erupting out and down over his front. The whispers started into fits of laughter again. The hands were on his face now; fingers were probing into his mouth and causing him to wretch. He tried to fight it off, he begged it to leave him, he sobbed and wept and kicked out.

He was then picked up, and slammed against the wall, he was dragged up and up and up until his head smashed the ceiling, he was then back against the ceiling being dragged along. It was slow and felt as if several cyber-tonnes were pushing against his chest as his aft dragged painfully, the soft metallic skin started to tear and sensors screamed at him. He was stopped mid ceiling.

"Oh Primus".

He whispered sadly, depression setting in.

_YOU ARE WORTHLESS!!_

The whispers had graduated to a unified, screaming howl that ripped into his audios.

"Please".

He watched as tears of energon dropped down to the floor below.

He followed suit.

Perceptor hit the ground with such force he was knocked into statis.

**0000hrs**

His optics opened.

He pushed himself up off the floor.

His vomit was dried on him.

His tears dry on his face.

His aft naked and covered with grazes.

His mind broken.

He chuckled.

His once polite and soft spoken accent gone.

His chuckle turned into a cackle.

He turned and walked towards the exit.

He left the lab and began down the corridor.

Cackling all the wall.

He made it to the exit.

No one met him.

No one came towards him.

The cold chilled hands accompanied him.

The whispers returned and told him where to go.

He obeyed.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's NB: Apologies for the lateness of this update. I had a horrid focused case presentation about a necrotic femoral head & pneumonia I had to fake my way through. I also have two other horrid assignment thingies I have to do. AND I have a new job and have to organise moving 9 hours for it. ___, so yeah, sorry. **

**Furthermore, I have horrible, HORRIBLE writers' block!!**

**Chapter Thirty One**

**23****rd**** December**

**1400hrs**

He'd used a spare key to get into Spike's place to have a shower. For all his intelligence he was rather annoyed at himself for not thinking of that last night, it would have provided a better sleep then on a the floor of a rundown old house his ex girlfriend was renovating.

Oh, and did he mention to himself that that crap shack had been haunted? Either the thing was part of the grander scheme of shenanigans that were transpiring all it was just some random ghostly experience.

From Spike's he'd gone to a restaurant that one really shouldn't buy food from, ever, he'd eaten his full, then spent the one and a half hour's drive back to Autobot City wanting to be sick. He pulled over in the last twenty minutes and deposited the rather sludgy looking remains of his meal behind a few of the bushes for the local fauna. He felt a great deal better and continued on his way.

At 1342hrs he arrived at Autobot City and at 1352hrs he learnt that Perceptor was gone and no one had any clue where he was, Springer had been beaten and kidnapped by the Twins and Magnus had basically had an "acute episode of mental health crisis" was how First Aid had described it. So now, at 1400hrs, sitting in his office, freaked out of his mind, he was trying to figure out what to do and who to turn too now.

He continually rubbed his fingers through his hair, feeling the damp grease against his skin. In his mind he kept expecting to hear something, to see something, to smell something, to feel something… something related to the dead. He tried to rationalise everything he'd experienced. He couldn't. And with Perceptor missing he had no one to discuss these thoughts with. Chip removed his fingers from his hair and laid his hands palms down on the desk in front of him, and then laying his head down between them he sobbed. After a few moments the damp his tears caused against the wood started to irritate his face. He sat back up and wiped the wet away.

It didn't relieve the sorrow in his heart.

"What am I supposed to do?"

He lamented.

"WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO??"

He screamed loudly.

There was no answer, and he felt a tad embarrassed for a moment, but equally glad his office and surrounding lab was sound proof.

His phone rung.

He squealed, jumped and then felt incredibly sheepish. He tried to get a hold of himself to answer.

"Hel… hello".

He failed.

"Well, hello to you Chip, fine day for a biscuit, ain't it?"

"Who's… who's this?"

"I'll be you can't remember me! Am I that boring that people forget me within days of meeting? Hehe, never mind, its Toby!"

"Padre?"

"Well, yeah, that's another title I go by".

"Why… how… how'd you get this number?"

"Gosh, Mr. Chase, for such a clever fella I'm surprised at your memory, might need to get that checked out, kid. You gave it to me, of course, on a business card".

Chip could not for the life of him remember giving out a business card.

"Now, on to the reason I'm giving you a jingle. I was having myself a fine tasting biscuit, being the festive season and all gives us oldies a few perks, and I just started thinking of you and your predicament".

"Really?"

"Well, to avoid creeping you out, young man, I will point out that I had a phone call from a rather distraught young chap who you recently made acquaintance with, Ethan, the young man, he woke up. Thank goodness. I heard he was out of it, as the kids these days say… come to think of it, they've always said that. Why, back in the 60s and basically around 'Nam days, the young hippy types used to say "out of it". It was quite amusing actually!! Anyway, I digress, as I tend to do, it's a rather unfortunate habit, and it used to make my homilies go a bit longer… I used to get a few complaints from some of the less patient parishioners, which, you can imagine only made me make them longer! Hahahah! Now where I was, oh yes, Ethan came round and contacted me, had a good weep, pulled himself together then told me the whole story to which I realised, I had to sort it out for you good folk".

Chip said nothing for a few moments and as the priest was catching his breath there was an eerie silence. Then Chip started sobbing. He couldn't find words to express to the Padre just how bad it was, just how awful this lack of scientific intervention was, just about how everything seemed so messed up.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, kid. Calm yourself down and come pick an old priest up".

**1440hrs**

Chip was about ten minutes drive from the Autobots' city, the road ahead for another 20 kilometres was still considered their territory and he had to admit, he enjoyed the drive. The "Great battle of 2005" as it had been termed had been not that long ago, but it was nice to see the wildlife returning and the plants slowly begin to show signs of life, even if most of the trees were bare courtesy of Autumn's descent and Winter's nippy grip. Up ahead the road curved slightly around a wad of boulders that had long since made their way down the close mountain and had added a nice touch of difference to the landscape. He slowed his speed and changed down to two, but as he twisted the control jutting from the steering wheel, that allowed the disabled man to drive a manual, he noticed it didn't give any resistance or make any noise. The car suddenly gulped and the speed he'd lost by lessening his grip on the hand used accelerator was suddenly replaced. The car was in fact increasing its velocity.

"What the hell?"

He gasped as he reached down for the hand break in an attempt to stop the car that way. Touching it he found it was ice cold, and it didn't give. It remained depressed and the car continued towards the sharp bend.

He wondered if he could veer off into the bushes, albeit leafless and hope something softer then the many rocks would slow him. He caught a glimpse of something in the rear view mirror. It was enough to re-focus his attention. Staring back at him in that narrow slit of reflective glass were two glowing red eyes and a dark sneer.

"OH GOD!"

He screeched as the thing sitting in the back of his car laughed at him. It was the last sound he would hear as he ploughed from the road and into a large cluster of rocks; the blackness of unconsciousness took him. The laugh, that evil, horrible laugh, bade him farewell.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty Two**

**23****rd**** December**

**1508hrs**

Any concept of rationality had passed from his CPU, somewhere within him he was aware of it, but that somewhere, something, wasn't in any position to over ride the insanity that had claimed him. His foot was chained with links of energon preventing escape, but he didn't seem to be realising it, and even if he did, he just didn't care. He was nattering to himself; to anyone else who overheard him he was speaking the words of an insane mech.

"Seriously, bro, Percy is giving me a major jolt of the heebie-jeebies".

Sunstreaker turned and looked at his brother.

"_What_? Where the hell did you pick up that term?"

"Oh, it's a human term, it means, you know, gives you the creeps, weirds you out, is scary basically".

"Now I know Percy has been described as many things, but scary?"

Sunstreaker groaned irritably.

"Well… eh he he he he… you should be scared… hehehehehe".

The scientist spun around at an unnatural angle to face them, a shadow of something… unpleasant was dangling from his optic ridges.

"Okay, now _that's _scary".

"YOU HAVEN'T SEEN SCARY!!"

The scientist's voice seemed to drop several octaves and almost sounded as if there were multiple individuals speaking at once. His optics went from the usual Autobot blue to a dark maroon which expressed a deep evil.

He lifted his bound legs and the energon chains snapped.

"What the Pit?"

Sideswipe was up off the floor from his sitting rather quickly, his twin just looked up from the rock he was perched on, Springer was pinned against the wall by rather large shackles. All of them felt a shudder of intense cold pass along their linkage. Perceptor lifted up his arms and flung pieces of the feeble scientific equipment that lay scattered upon the table at the twins.

"Woooh not cool!"

Sideswipe was already at the door.

"Sides you arse!"

Sunstreaker growled as he began to get up.

The scientist suddenly turned towards the golden twin, his mouth snarling and lubricant dripping from his soft metallic lips which were now cracking from the force of which is grimace was taking upon his face plates.

"What's the matter, Twin? I thought you two liked to make funnies! Don't you find my actions amusing?"

He leapt upwards and smashed on Sunstreaker. The golden mech attempted to push the possessed scientist off his form. His hands connected with chilled steel sending yet another shudder through him, he pulled back and then got his left foot in between the two. He pushed upwards but found the slight scientist could not be budged.

"Do you perceive a quandary? Are you perplexed at my subsequent increase in mass, or are you simply contemplating on your lack of strength?"

The voice grated his audios and Sunstreaker felt that uncomfortable twinge of fear creep into his processor and then it seeped down into his spark. On his peripheral he noted a black and red blur coming towards him. His brother landed a forceful kick to the head of the possessed geek. He seemed unaffected by it, but regardless turned his attention to the sudden nuisance.

"Oh, my apologies I grant to you for not considering your inclusion".

Perceptor hunched upwards, until he was standing on the golden one's chest plates.

"What a delightful time we are enjoying".

His voice was far from sincere and his optic had now progressed to a shade of black. He jumped up on Sunstreaker, when he came down he used the force to propel himself towards the other, leaving a savage dent in the narcissist's casing. Sideswipe suddenly wondered if this method of going about saving his brother was the right one as the crazed scientist ploughed into him, slamming him against the rock wall twenty metres behind them.

Perceptor gripped the red twin's head and began smashing it into the wall, laughing evilly with a voice that was obviously not his.

"NO!"

Sunstreaker screamed with a sudden fury that wasn't directed at his ruined paint job. He rushed the back of the geek bot and slammed both fists down on the back of Perceptor's head. It took the victim by surprise and Perceptor ended up flat on top of the brother. Sunstreaker unaware of the loss of consciousness he'd just caused grabbed the Autobot genius and tossed him across the room until the table he'd once worked upon broke his progression.

"You alright, bro?"

Sunstreaker asked as he reached down and offered a hand.

"Yeah bro… just a bit… wobbly in the head".

"Wobbly in the head?"

"Yeah, the CPU is glitching a bit… let's just get the hell out of here, we can find another way to sort this out".

"OH NO YOU DON'T!"

Perceptor screamed as the things inside him bought him back to functioning within the world around him. He stood and grabbed the large metal slab that was the table's top. He held it above his head, a feat that the twins and the aerial commander had to know was impossible for such a peaceful (usually) mech. The table top was then hurtling towards them.

"HOLY SHIT! MOVE BRO!"

Sunstreaker screamed as he grabbed his brother and the two plunged to the side out of its way. The metal table slammed into rock face above the entrance before it fell down collapsing on an odd angle to obscure the exit.

There was a crack.

The twins turned and looked up from where they were.

The crack spread along the natural grain of the rock that housed them.

"We should probably move".

Sideswipe stated rather thoughtfully as he watched the crack start to break into smaller fractures and spread around the top of the ceiling. Small pebbles started to drift down onto them.

"Yeah-huh".

His twin nodded as the two stood up.

Perceptor picked up one of the legs of the table, a rather large metal square and he threw that at the two fleeing twins. Sunstreaker was at the blocked escape and was trying to dig away several large rocks that were tightly packed next to the metal. Sideswipe was trying to pull the actual table top from where it had fallen, but was distressed to find it was marginally covered by a large amount of rock.

"LOOK OUT!"

Springer roared, not sure really why he should given it was their fault that he was down here. Of course, he didn't want them getting splattered or the exit truly destroyed else he'd be down here a lot longer. Both twins turned simultaneously and both jumped simultaneously to see the object speeding towards them… but strangely it was going higher then them, they moved easily enough towards Springer.

The table support didn't hit the table top, nor the sides of the exit; it struck the ceiling above it. And it hit with such force that the whole roof caved in, as the huge rocks struck the ground below it gave way, sucking the twins and the still shackled triple changer down into the bowels of the earth below.

The three lay in a mess of rubble and metal looking up towards the hole they'd just descended through, Sunstreaker was the only one who had not been knocked immediately into stasis and he could hear the cackling of the scientist. Before the dark took him he was able to see those morbid optics glowing somewhere above him.

"I'm coming for you, oh yes I am".

Perceptor called down towards him.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty Three**

**23****rd**** December**

**1934hrs**

He woke to solitary.

His brother was gone.

Springer wasn't there.

There was a breeze that announced itself with a frightening howl along the dark pit he found himself in. There was a great discomfort in his limbs as he activated them with intention of standing. Looking up he realised he wouldn't be going out that way.

At some point during his sojourn in the realm of stasis the ground he'd lay upon had collapsed again, dropping him deeper into the gut of this wretched messy planet. If he was his brother he could have perhaps initiated the use of a rocket pack. But he wasn't his brother. And at this point, he didn't even know if his brother was still up there. He felt his spark was still functioning in this existence. Springer, well, he couldn't care less about that… what was it the humans called them… jock?

Sunstreaker stood at the wall and reached out with his hands to get a feel for their integrity. It was damp, uneven and gritty and any attempt to climb it would probably result in more damage to his chrome plating and a fall back to land uncomfortably on his aft. Looking around the chamber he found himself in he realised his only way out was going to be one where he walked. He activated lights on the front of his chassis and found only the left one operational, and his internal auditing function reported it was only effective to 9.4%. But 9.4% lighting was better then 0% lighting. He decided to walk towards the source of the breeze, hoping it'd be a way out, Primus knew the cons were great cowards and if they were good at one thing and one thing only it was building in alternative escape routes.

The majority of his internal systems checkers were offline and only the most rudimentary of sensors were operating and not exactly at peak efficiency. His chronometer was offline so he had no concept of how much time had past and what time it was now. But he was well aware of the darkness that was fighting the dim light he was giving out. The ground beneath his feet was damp and gave him the realisation that it was probably very unstable; of course, his structural analysis sensors were also, offline. It was rather irritating to him, and in a way he was rather glad of that fact, as it gave him something else to focus on then Perceptor and whatever else could be down in this abandoned… well… whatever it was.

Eventually when he turned he was unable to see the flecks of light that had been fighting their way in through the hole that he'd fallen through. It was just him and his petty 9.4% light and the pitch. Up ahead he noted something odd sticking out of the wall of rock, he approached it with some level of caution. Touching it he tried to contemplate what it was, it was soft and sort of spongy, yet the end sticking out was rather sharp. Wood. It was a plank of wood. He looked up and along the wall until he was staring up at the ceiling. It was an old mine the humans must have abandoned. Looking down he realised that two mine shafts must have been place parallel to each other and the floor of the top one that had served as the ceiling for the bottom one had collapsed which made space for the Autobot. He then noticed a small brown rock sticking out of the ground, on closer inspection the odd shaped rock was actually a skull. His optics followed along its vertebrae and along its chest, which was covered with the soggy and ratty remains of a shirt. The right bony hand was clasped around a pick axe while a few centimetres from the left hand was a crushed cage holding the skeleton of a small bird. He searched his databanks and found ancient human miners would take canaries down into the mines and if the canary died then the human workers would escape – it was an indication of toxic gas in the shaft ways. The twin was by no means interested in any form of human history, but he'd once over heard Sparkplug explaining to Skids all about his old job of mining and how the craft had changed. It was sort of sad, really, Sunstreaker realised, that this poor bastard had died down here with his canary, alone and unnoticed, and then left here. Did he have any family who would mourn? Any friends who had noticed? Or perhaps he was unable to be retrieved as the risk to others was too great. The twin suddenly wondered why he was bothering with the feebly short lives of these blobs. They didn't have the right to complain about Autobot battles with Decepticons ending their short lives when they would actively seek out behaviour and activity that could hasten the end of their life that would shorten that little vorn they called a life span.

"Stupid meat sacks".

He growled.

The echo ripped up and down the dark tunnel and it creeped him out rather significantly. Something dropped on his head. At first he just ignored it; his sensors weren't operating at a high enough discernment to let him know it was anything concerning. Another thing dropped on his head. Then another. It proved to be annoying, he looked up and a clump of dirt dropped into his optic. He brushed it aside and groaned irritably and just continued on his way, a few metres from the unstable roof site, the ceiling came down.

When the twin woke up he found himself under a large amount of soft dirt, in amongst it were a few good wads of soggy wood and larger, harder rocks. It was also black. That 9.4% of light was gone. Feeling down around his chassis thinking it was probably just covered in muck, his fingers gently passed over fractured glass and broken wiring. That tiny bulb that was giving out that miniscule amount of light, it was shattered beyond repair. He was in the dark now. He managed to dig himself out, it was actually quite an easy task as the dampness in the dirt made it soft and it obliged as he scrapped it out of the way. Of course, it was going to leave him in an awful state of appearance. He staggered up into a standing position and was relieved to find he didn't bump his head on anything. He held his arms out and his fingers touched the pile of mud that had only a few moments ago covered him. He knelt into it and slowly started to massage around the mound, it went all the way up to what he assumed was the ceiling and it continued down the sides and until it touched the ground. He began to claw at it, hoping to Primus he could find a way out, a way back to the light source. A large rumble came from above him and a few clumps of dirt started to rain down on his head and shoulders. He panicked momentarily and jumped back several metres, he pivoted and ran through the darkness towards more darkness listening to more of this ill gotten earth cave in, furthering his imprisonment.

The twin stopped running when the loud sounds of dirt moving ceased. He stood there, his cooling vents pulled in the damp, musty air around him, trying to lower the temperature of his over heating, over stressed systems. There was no menu in his field of vision to give him readouts as to just how hot his systems were, or just how serious the damage was, all he knew was he was hot and in the dark. Holding his arms out, splaying the fingers on his hands, he moved cautiously in an attempt to locate the direction free of obstacles, sure he had found it, he continued on slowly, the sludgy dirt below his feet squishing as he went.

He didn't like to stop.

When he stopped there was no squishing.

And he no longer needed to operate his air vents so that sound was gone.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't focus on his fuel pump, but given the fear he felt he was sure it was chugging away furiously inside his dented form.

When he stopped, there was nothing. Not a sound. And that was scary.

There was always sound around the Twins. Whether it was the laughter of one or both or of friends, or the screams of Decepticons on the battlefield or the loud blaring of Blaster's music or some rubbish flesh creature show Sideswipe was currently infatuated with.

There was always sound.

But not now.

He needed to rest, to recharge, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Surely, part of his CPU told him, if Perceptor, or whatever it was, was going to do something, it would have done it by now…, but then all the human horror movies he'd seen told him that the terrible stuff happened when the lights were out and the humans were either snug in their beds deep in recharge, or snug in their beds deep in interface. That was the human word for a recharge berth, right? He asked himself, bed? He couldn't be sure, but it was something he needed to do, keep his mind active, focused on something other then the blackness around him. He forced his need for recharge to the side and welcomed back the squishing.

Sunstreaker had developed himself a good little system, he'd hold his right arm out to the side so his fingers would trace along the wall, and when his right arm got tired, he'd hold out his left arm, it enabled him to wander along with few incidents. Occasionally he push himself into a rather nasty bout of fear as a clump of dirt would come off in his hands and he'd hear that all to familiar and very unwelcome rumbling. He stopped for a moment as the rumbling seemed to intensify, but much to his relief it ceased quickly. He slumped against the wall and slid down until his aft was edged into the muck that passed as the floor. He wasn't sure when exactly the mine shaft changed, perhaps the mess was a result of further cave ins or the humans had stopped digging. Maybe the Constructicons had started ground work for an escape or another base deeper under the terrain. He sighed and rested his head down on his mud splattered knees.

Squish.

At first he didn't look up. IT was only one "squish" and he was occasionally moving just to get comfortable in the cold sludge that probably had memory of his aft as he thought.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

It was very obvious now to him that someone was approaching him.

Sitting side on, however, he was unable to decide which direction they were coming from. Was it from behind or in front?

Surely it couldn't be from behind; there was a cave in back that way, unless while he was touching one wall there was an adjourning tunnel that merged. Or perhaps they were coming from infront of him.

That was an even more awful thought, if they were approaching from ahead of him, well, that meant if he turned to run backwards to escape, he'd run into a large cave in.

Squissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssh.

It was the sound of something sitting down next to him.

He turned and faced the direction it had come, from in front, it was now right next to him, and he could feel its air vents evacuating on his face. He held himself still, and not from self control or a desire to trick it into leaving, but more from trepidation so deep and intense he couldn't' find any part of him that would move him into an escape, no matter how much he willed it.

There was a hand on his thigh now.

It didn't feel like a mech's hand. And as wussy as Perceptor was, he didn't not have the hands of a femme.

It moved up his thigh until it reached his hip joint.

The form moved in so it was so close it was brushing against him. Its chassis pressed against his still arm. Definitely not a mech.

But there was no warmth to it.

No sincerity in its actions.

No lively lust.

Its breath stunk of rust and of wasted energon.

"I…. Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yooooooooou"

Its voice was soft, calm and very, very chilled.

Sunstreaker heard a scream, realised it was his, and found the motivation to get up. He pushed the ghostly femme out to the side and took off running in the direction he hoped was away from it and not back into the damn cave in.

Squishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquish.

It was running behind him.

"I seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooou".

The voice called out to him from behind, though it didn't sound as if the volume had increased, it sounded as if it was still right next to him, realising that foul breath upon his form. Suddenly he was flying through the air and it was not self-initiated, he face planted into the muddy floor and he felt it on his back. Pushing its cold hands on the back of his head, pushing his face deep into the mouldy dirt of old.

"I seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yooooooooooooooooooooooou".

It growled again.

And then it was gone.

He rolled himself over, covered in mud and slime and fear. He sat up slowly and wiped the muck from his face, his fear coming in sobs now as he struggled to stand, he was completely unsure as to what direction he was facing. He was afraid he'd retrace his steps and end back at the cave in. He dropped to his knees and started to howl with grief and distress.

"PLEASE!!! WHATEVER I DID TO PISS YOU OFF! I'M SORRY!!"

He roared into the chilled emptiness.

He was given no response.

He rolled back down into the cold slimy earth and took hold of the foetal position. Sobbing.

--

Author's NB: I just figured out how to change it so its not humour as a category any more. Huzzah. Heheh, but I find this sort of thing funny, I showed a friend of mine and she was like "no, Jeanette, you freak, that's not funny, that's scary!"


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty Four**

**23****rd**** December**

**1959hrs**

"Commander, I have something to report on. Its nothing major, but you said you wanted to be informed of anything out of the ordinary given some recen…"

"Alright, lad, don't need an entire pro-loge just have at it and let me know what you've found".

"Well, Sir, at first I just thought they were little seismic activity as this area is known for it, but over the passed few hours there's been a few more rumblings centred at the same area, and they're not strong enough to be natural and they've on the surface".

"And? So there's a few rumblings, probably some humans having themselves a loud get together".

"No, sir, its at the site of an old Decepticon base".

Kup stood from behind his desk and looked over at the young nervous mech.

"Get a team out there, now".

The security director was in no mood to deal with any activity at any Decepticon base, no matter how derelict or abandoned and certainly no matter how mild. If they got out there and found two bears mating, then fine, but it was better then letting it slide.

"Sir, there's something else…"

"What?"

Kup asked as he started picking up digipads.

"I ran a more detailed scan, and I was able to pick up Autobot signatures, I couldn't identify all of them, but one of them is aerial commander Springer".

Kup looked over at the young mech and narrowed his optics, more from anger at the Twins then at the mech before him – who seemed to be taking the glance personally. The older ignored the young mech's insecurities and walked past him, he reiterated his order and then was out in the corridor walking quickly as his worn joints would carry him towards the Prime.

**2010hrs**

"Rodimus, lad, we might have a lead on the Twins, or at the very least Springer".

"Real?"

"One of our monitors picked up Autobot signatures at an old Decepticon base, he also picked up seismic activity, one of the signatures he able to put an ID to was Springer's".

Rodimus murmured in response. Kup noticed he was still focused on the screaming city commander, or former if First Aid couldn't get his systems back to normal.

"I thought Aid sedated him".

"He did, but he's come back out of it again. First Aid told me he gave Mags enough to put Omega Supreme down, and _no_ he wasn't exaggerating".

"I'd tend to believe him, lad".

"What the hell's going on, Kup? I mean, this is one of this shit fests where you're experience is more then welcome! I have to say to you now, Kup that I've had my share of quirky goings on in my life, but recently, there's been shit happening, and I gotta be honest, Kup, its freaking me out. I mean, I bet Optimus never had to deal with crap like this, and if he did I bet he dealt with it like he deals with everything, perfect!"

Before Kup could reassure the new leader, First Aid came out and joined them in the small room.

"Oh, Kup, hello".

First Aid said softly as he looked nervously at them both.

"What's the haps, Aid?"

Rodimus inquired.

"Not good I'm afraid, my scans aren't showing any physical glitches, there's no virus, no corrupted programme, no damage to any of the circuits, there is no evidence what so ever to support a fractured or fraying CPU. This, well, I think this is going to make me sound a bit… insane, but from what I can see, I think something is striking this insanity, this fear, straight into his spark".

"Is he saying anything?"

Kup inquired.

"Yeah, but its probably not that much of an improvement over him just screaming".

Rodimus stated.

"So far his words have been singular, things like "no" and "don't" and "Primus", nothing that makes any coherency".

The doctor responded.

"First Aid, have you ever seen anything like this before? Is there anything in your files that suggest something like this?"

Kup asked, the medic simply shook his head sadly and looked down.

"I'm doing everything I can, Kup".

He added.

"Some ghost kicked my arse!!"

Rodimus suddenly blurted out.

The other two turned, optics wide.

"What did you just say lad?"

"I was with some… a friend… they left and then something showed up in my room, and when I say "showed up" I mean started throwing stuff around and shaking my berth! I know it sounds crazy and I know it sounds nuts but it's the truth, and seeing Magnus like that, knowing that the twins are running around a few energon goodies short of an interstellar picnic just confirms it for me. Unless there's some kind of wide spread insanity then this place is just… well… ghost central".

Despite the looks from his companions, despite the realisation he probably just made himself look like a complete dumb arse or crazy mech, he actually felt relief. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a heavy burden had been removed.

Their glowing blue optics watching him was unsettling to him, Kup opened his mouth about to say something but Rodimus didn't want to hear it.

"I gotta go! Sort this shit out, old man, this goes beyond my pay grade!"

Rodimus turned and then ran out of the office.

"Well, that was unexpected".

First Aid said simply.

"He's not the only one seeing things, Aid, but you're a young mech; I wouldn't expect you to have experienced what so many of us older mechs have".

Kup turned and began to walk out when First Aid said:

"Actually…"

Kup stopped and looked over his shoulder, an optic ridge rising.

"What's that lad?"

"Ah… actually I think there's a few other tests I can still run".

First Aid pulled back from what he was going to say and looked down, almost ashamed.

"Okay, lad, you do whatever you think might help".

The older mech left the room. The doctor slumped down into a chair.

"Way to go, Aid, way to go".

He whimpered irritably at himself.

**2118hrs**

Rodimus stopped and transformed outside the ancient Autobot ship. The Ark. They still used it, but recently it had stood empty as all Autobot forces were being deployed to the city to protect it from any further attack and to ensure there was a larger work force to assist the reconstruction.

So, now, it stood empty. Magnus had stated it was still a valuable assert and it needed to be utilised, but in the mean time it was a risk to their security as there was still Autobot technology that while Decepticons wouldn't want given its age, to certain human groups it would prove a gold mine.

It was a freaky sort of structure at this time of night. A harsh wind picked up and blew passed him violently, kicking up dust and debris of dead trees into his face. It was completely dark and very, very empty. He had to bite the bullet, as the expression was said, and just go inside. He wasn't sure what his purpose was for coming here, but it was the best, well, only idea he'd had in the last few weeks that this debacle had been going on.

He walked slowly along the entrance; the light from the slither of the moon soon disappeared. His optics switched to infrared and he was able to see the complete desolation that resided within this ancient place. The rocky over hangs had the occasional nocturnal organic life form scuttling over it, there were large puddles of dust and dirt that had blown in here and every now and the constant curves of the corridor's entrance were less then settling. He reached the main chamber after ten minutes of walking through the pitch.

Teletran was completely offline, so there was no light source coming from it. More rocks lay strewn about the place, having become part of the décor, but also being dislodged from both volcanic and Decepticon activity. A large spider web reached from the top of the once so valuable computer to a series of overturned rusting chairs, the owner's dried carcass dangled from the mid section of, its empty shell gently dancing across the stale breeze that passed through.

"PRIMUS!"

He screamed as he pulled his rifle from subspace as he jumped around to face the large being behind him.

He felt like quite a fool when he noticed it was just a pile of stacked tables and chairs, covered in cobwebs, dust and the occasional digipad.

"Oh man, what the pit was I thinking coming here?"

He asked himself out loud, his voice echoing through the ship.

Magnus had ordered the power sources be removed from the Ark until such time as they decided to reinhabit the place, again because of human thieves and because it was a waste of valuable resources. Rodimus recalled the older, more experienced soldier's words and wiped the lubricant from his forehead.

"Primus".

He whispered.

"Give us back Magnus, please?"

He wasn't one for prayer, it wasn't that he was an "atheist" or even an agnostic, he was just simply a bit lazy and would rather be facing some broad chested femme then sitting in "church" listening to some guy rant about how great Primus was.

Rodimus decided he'd had enough of standing in this chamber, taking in the absolute morbidness of this once bustling and perhaps over crowded section of the ship. He knew why he had come here, and he accessed his internal databanks to find the exact location of where he was headed.

He'd been in here a few times as Hot Rod, but had not returned since he had been "promoted". Walking along towards the corridors that would snake into the darkest parts of the ship wasn't the most welcoming of thoughts but he needed to do it. He had to. If he didn't, well, he had no other ideas and this was the best he had.

The habitation wings had narrow corridors, usually in grounded bases the areas around the officer's quarters were a lot nicer, in both size and decoration, but on board their vessels, they didn't have space for such luxuries. Magnus had been a firm believer in "space rationing" as he had phrased it.

"Damn".

He whispered to himself as he realised how much he was missing the stern bot, and certainly how valuable he was to the cause… Primus, he probably would have destroyed the whole planet earth by now if it wasn't for the city commander's guidance, even Kup's ramblings had proven useful.

He brushed a bit too close to a wall and found nothing there; he fell through a set of open doors.

"Slag".

Whispering he stood up slowly and decided he was sick of the eerie green environment that infrared provided, so he flicked on a small light mounted on his shoulder. He shone it around the room he found himself in. It was definitely a private quarters and when he saw what lay about the floor and on one of the tables he realised it belonged to someone who had been off lined during the great battle. He felt like an intruder, standing in this empty room, a room that had provided privacy and comfort and a get away from all the war that existed out there. Walking towards the berth he wondered why this place hadn't been cleared out properly as he picked up a small trinket from the berth side table. It was singed and warped from great heat. He couldn't guess what it had once been, but given its current condition and the other objects in this quarters he knew who it belonged to. A mech who he'd met just the once, but who he had heard about a lot. In fact, it was on his fourth day on earth that a huge explosion had ripped through a portion of Autobot City resulting in at least twenty injured Autobots and an insanely enraged Autobot CMO. He'd later learned that a certain Autobot scientist was a little… unsafe… apparently he'd been asked to remain at the Ark, for the safety of all concerned, but on one of his visits to the city he'd made a comment that started with "Hey, I bet if you put this thing there and plugged that thing into…"

He felt a smirk tug at his lip components and he decided to leave the emptiness to its own ghosts. On exiting he pulled the doors together to give the darkness some privacy.

Another five minutes passed and he was still guiding himself along the snaking corridors with the light on his chassis giving out some comfort, his CPU providing the map. It was still unsettling, though, walking through this place, he hadn't realised just how big it was. How deep it had ploughed into the mountain, and how frightening it'd probably be if he was without the ability to navigate this place.

Reaching a single door, his CPU indicated that on the other side was the corridor that led to the officers' quarters. That was where he needed to be. He pressed his hands against the door and slid it along its tracks. It protested for a moment, and the smell of rust made itself known, but his stronger struts won out and the door lost.

The corridor was a little wider, but not by much, and there were a few remaining trappings that indicated the higher ups resided here. Mostly finely crafted Autobot insignias and a for some reason, a huge poster of Jim Morrison, Jazz or Blaster could probably answer that. He passed a few open doors and shining his small light in he could see they were completely empty – obviously the rooms of survivors. A few of the other rooms were shielded from his optics by shut doors, a heavy lock on each of them, obviously those in the brass who died were afforded more respect to their privacy. At the end of the corridor was a room with a damaged lock next to two large doors that filled the entire end of the hall. He was curious at this point as to the contents of the room with the damage. He pushed the lock and it fractured, he doors easily submitting to him as he passed through. The room was completely clean of any mess and had a certain level of order that was unusual, even for an officer. On a table sitting in the middle of the room, set up, was a game the humans called "chess", its pieces were crafted from granite and marble, and looked very, very expensive. A couple of the pieces had fallen to the ground as a few small pieces of rock had fallen from the ceiling and obviously dislodged them from their placement. He crouched down and picked one up; it resembled what the humans called a "horse". He was sure he could get an audio full from Skids about what it was and what it meant and what its role was in this game, but quite frankly, he desired other things to fill his memory chips then human games that looked so boring. He placed the piece back on the table and stood.

When he woke he was on the floor, his optics expressing to him the fractured pieces of the chess board he'd fallen upon. Something had struck him, and had done one hell of a job. He rolled over onto his back and groaned, reaching up with both hands he massaged the back of his cranium.

"Holy slag".

He groaned again and slowly managed to pull himself up, a twinge of fear passed through him as he realised his tiny little light was shattered, and that his CPU was unable to switch over his usual optical function into infrared. Rodimus managed to pull himself up into a standing position and decided he needed to do what he intended and then get the hell out of here. Feeling his way from the room he made it back out into the hall, it wasn't that much of an effort to locate the double doors from there but it was a rather strut straining job to get them open.

Inside he was ever so grateful to see a slightly dim lamp burning in memorial. Daniel had suggested it, saying that after the assassination of JFK the humans had lit a torch lamp thing on his grave and it continued to burn. Rodimus had no idea who JFK was, or even if that was his name or perhaps what humans called initials and he certainly didn't want to offend anyone by expressing his ignorance.

It proved comforting to see it sitting there on the former leader's desk glowing, sneaking some illumination into the darkness about it. Optimus' room had been restored with fakeries of what had once existed here; the real items had been moved to a museum type display at the city. But there was a small object sitting on the desk that was original, a gift from Spike after he'd been saved with his father. It was something Magnus had said was inappropriate to be preserved in memorial of the greatest Autobot leader who ever functioned. Spike didn't seem too offended, but humans, especially Spike, were good at hiding their true emotional state. It was a small figure crafted in plastic, with a plastic fabric that resembled grass worn as a skirt, and coconuts used to cup the plastic femme's mammaries. She had several colourful little paper necklaces hanging around her neck and if you knocked her the little hips would swing. Carly had later explained that it was a Hawaiian dancer, and that while it certainly was not something expensive or valuable or even appropriate, it had been given to Spike three days before his mother had died. She'd gotten it from a trip to Hawaii where she'd met his father. So it held a great deal of significance, and Optimus had respected that and appreciated that and had treasured that.

Rodimus brushed it with his little finger and then watched it dance in the dim light.

"Optimus. I need your help".

He said firmly to the room. The brightly painted mech removed the Matrix and placed it on the desk; he resumed the size of Hot Rod.

"There's something going on, Optimus, and I don't know what it is or what to do about it".

He walked to the shelves and viewed the large amount of digipads.

"I figure since you're one with the Matrix now, that you could, I dunno, come out and tell me what the slag I need to do to sort this all out".

He paused and gripped the sides of his head with his hands.

"Please, Optimus! We all know I'm never going to be as great a leader as you were, Pit, that plastic dancing femme on your desk could do a better job then me, but if you could just, I dunno, give me some crazy Matrix dream so I can have a few clues".

After Prime's death, after he'd taken the Matrix, his recharge had been filled with dreams, memories as Kup had explained, from those who had carried the mantle long before him. They were meant to assist, not to frighten, but over time they had subsided. Kup explained there was only so much they could give him before they realised he had to sort it out for himself. Each leader was different and each leader had to decide for himself just what kind of leader they were going to be. Optimus had been through the same trials and tribulations the Matrix and his self doubts would give him.

"Rodimus".

Hot Rod spun around and found himself facing his idol.

"Optimus!"

"Just as there is light, there is dark, just as there is good, there is evil, just as there is kindness and generosity, there is cruelty and selfishness. What lies in the spark of one will not lie in the spark of another".

And with that, Optimus was gone.

"Optimus! Wait! Please! That doesn't make any sense!!"

He screamed after him. But the peaceful, reassuring chill Prime's presence had left in the air was gone.

Hot Rod dropped to the floor and sobbed.

--

Author's NB: Honestly, I have no idea if JFK has some ever burning torch on his grave, I recall something about it once, but couldn't remember if it was JFK or Elvis. But it sounds like a possibility?


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty Five**

**23****rd**** December**

**2320hrs**

It was a familiar sound.

Comforting.

It bought back memories from a child hood long since past.

Children playing happily on the sand of a peaceful beach.

Before the war, before the Autobots and Decepticons and before the accident.

He often told people it was an illness, and oftentimes he'd tell himself that to try and get it to ingrain a little further into his psyche. The more he believed it, the more others would believe it when they brushed aside polite etiquette and asked.

Ratchet had probably know, a simple scan would have revealed the truth to optics trained in the art of medicine, sure, he was an Autobot doctor, but he had taken the best human literature regarding their biological forms and incorporated it into his data files – if only to assist with Spike and Sparkplug if they were injured.

Maybe Perceptor had. But that chap was a polite chap indeed and wouldn't invade the privacy of another being without permission. First Aid would have the same ethics but probably less desire to learn about the "cripple".

It was pretty simple, really.

His father was a drunk.

Embarrassing.

His father got worse after he lost his job.

No, the parents of Chip were not highly intelligent individuals. Not doctors nor lawyers nor some highly regarded Professor at some prestigious university.

His mother was quite nicely put, a whore, she'd sleep with whoever came her way, looking for the intimacy and love she obviously didn't get from her drunk of a husband. She turned to the bottle when she discovered she was pregnant with Chip's younger brother. That child was born into a world of darkness. Deaf. Blind. Mute. And with absolutely no indication that there was a mind inside that damaged skull.

Chip was 11 at the time. Old enough, and smart enough to know those horrific defects were caused by his mother's actions.

He had a sister of 15 and a brother of 8.

Both were fine and healthy, physically. He lost contact with his sister after he made contact with the Autobots. She'd left home when she was 16, shortly after the accident, if only to escape the abuse their father had doled out, particularly to her. You didn't need Chip's IQ to figure what that mongrel did to her for all those long years. His other brother… well… that was tragic. Chip, after being discharged from the re-hab ward went to live with his uncle and aunt. People who had always tried to pick up the pieces of his parents' debacle that was called a marriage.

At 7 the family would drive up to that small beach side house and several weeks during the summer break enjoying the waves and the wonderful feeling of community that such small towns oozed. Back when his dad's drinking wasn't so bad, back when he had a stable job stocking shelves at a large department store. The money wasn't good, but it put food on their small table. His mother worked as a secretary at the school where they attended. She wasn't that intelligent and was never any help with spelling or math homework, but she was diligent in her tasks. Of course, when her husband lost his job, it caused a great deal of stress. He couldn't quite recall the statistics behind marriages that ended in divorce, but one of the main reasons they ended was because of fiscal mishaps.

That sound, it comforted him.

The sound of die rolling around in a plastic cup.

The way they danced out and across the wooden planks of the porch or onto the blanket lay across the fine sand.

Farkle.

Games like chess, even monopoly, his siblings and even his parents wouldn't play these against him, he was too intelligent, to greatly gifted that such games would always put him at an advantage. But Farkle, that was based on luck, and no matter of intelligence, would ensure the right selection of numbers would roll out on the die.

Ones, fives, they were the ones you wanted, and a set of three or more, or a subsequent run. He'd only gotten a run once, but he'd never forget it. It was after a meal of cold meatloaf with hot gravy (his favourite combination), a good wad of peas and a scoop of mashed potatoes. He had a glass of warm juice in his hand. Wearing light brown shorts and a green top with a few holes here and there from his active antics. He had pushed his glasses up his nose and looked down as he rolled the die out across the wooden decking. The sea breeze had picked up and the salty smell was wrapping itself about them. It had just gone 7.30pm and the late sun was still giving them both warmth and light. At first he thought he was seeing something, until his sister confirmed it with a grown up word that their parents hadn't heard.

It was one of the best feelings of his life, which in retrospect was rather sad.

The accident happened on the way back from their holiday paradise a few years later. After the job loss, the adultery, the defective child, it was just what they'd need, their neighbour had said. Turns out the neighbour had been paid by their landlord to get them out and up to the beach so the landlord could evict them. Try and get your mind of Nikki, she'll come back, she'll be okay. You need to relax, I'm sure little Grant will be okay, he's only a baby, the doctors can't be sure about hearing at that stage, and babies can't read so he can't tell you he can't see! Get your marriage back on track, that'll help sort all this out, you'll see! Those catch phrases from their soft spoken neighbour, a woman of 70 odd and her husband who probably talked her into agreeing, a man of 74 who'd oftentimes had "words" with Chip's father regarding his late night returns.

They'd spent a few days up there. He went out, got drunk. Came back and argued with his wife over something minute. Chip hid away in his room with his two brothers, the young boy who'd escape soon and the baby who could never escape, or perhaps had already but had left his body there. The wife and husband agreed, the only thing they did, to get in the car and return home.

He was drunk. Drunker then usual and that corner coupled with his rage, intoxication and sudden light summer shower made that corner something that refused to yield itself to the vehicle. It roared off the road and plummeted down the steep embankment.

Chip's injuries were obvious. Fractures at T1, T2, T3, L1, L2, L4 and swelling around C1, C2. There were no complete severs of the spinal cord, but there were little nicks and scratches. The bones were pinned; he wore a brace and found himself in a wheelchair that he'd never be able to leave. The physio therapist had told him, along with the doctors and experienced nurses that while miracles happened, it was miracle enough he was alive. He would have some movement, some sensation, but how much they could not say, and whatever he did have wouldn't enable him to walk under his own power. Sad.

His brother died. He was never sure if it was at the scene or later in hospital or perhaps in transit. He could never be sure and he didn't really want to know.

His mother had died also, a violent end to a depressing life. In her rage, before the final argument, she'd undone her seat belt to reach across and slap her husband. Those actions ensured she would be flung from the car, shoulder first through the windscreen and then propelled into a tree where her head was crumpled into a mess similar to scrunched up tin foil.

The deaf, dumb, mute, brain damaged, foetal alcohol syndrome child survived. He too had injuries, two broken femurs, multiple rib fractures and an assortment of cuts and bruises. He didn't cry like normal babies. He didn't fidget like a normal child in pain. He lay in his cot unaware of the injuries grog and no-self control had inflicted on him. Had the doctors perhaps recognised the child's defects perhaps they would not have pushed to save him. After his discharge from hospital, it was too much to ask of his uncle and aunty to take him. He ended up in some institution and after some scandal which involved neglect and terrible abuse he was moved on and bumped about facilities. Chip had the opinion of himself that he had not been a good brother to little Grant, as he had not bothered to follow up. Chances are, with such deformity, he might have died.

And then there was his father.

That lousy bastard had survived, and with the exception of a broken wrist, he was perfectly fine. Something about drunks being relaxed that they would go limp in an accident and didn't have the speed of reflex to tense in preparation for an impact.

Of course he went to jail. He served time. But got out about two years later because he had "found God" and was no longer a "slave to the drink".

So when asked, Chip simply smiled and said "Oh, my dad, he's a doctor/lawyer/professor/businessman".

And as long as there were no invasive follow up questions, things went along smoothly. Spike didn't even know the truth.

As far as he was concerned, his uncle and aunty were his parents now.

Of course, he hadn't seen them in several years. His research and job and the Autobots and friends and cat and wheel chair tire polish just took up all his time. They'd understand of course. His uncle was a surgeon, albeit retired, and his aunty was still lecturing high school students about the Iliad and Red figure technique.

What a fucking mess.

He thought as those pleasant thoughts of pleasant summer games at pleasant holiday homes in pleasant towns drifted from his mind and replaced by the vodka soaked blood splattered car seats he found himself twisted around.

But there was no vodka here…

He was aware of another sound, the slow spinning of a car's wheel. The scratching of flora's dried ends on the paint of a dented car.

There was a smell.

It was of petrol and smoke and melting plastic and burning rubber.

Oh God. I'm going to die here.

He thought sadly as he tried to wriggle himself from his entrapment.

While pushing against the wheel he realised he was upside down, that there was a mess about his head. At first he thought it must have been vomit. It wasn't. Then perhaps it was blood? But at that amount, well, he'd be dead if it was that amount.

"Oh God! Water!"

He whimpered, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded as he realised the car had spun down to land upside down in a ditch which was filling slowly with water.

That's when his brain allowed his senses to get through to him that it was raining.

It wasn't that heavy rain that made you feel warm in your bed, or angry that you had to go out in it to get to your place of employ.

It was that rain that would trick you into thinking you didn't need an umbrella, the kind of rain that looked like wisps, that got you soaking wet if you weren't careful or quick to get to shelter. It was the kind of rain that could still cause enough to rise slowly in a ditch to drown you.

He was trapped. His legs would not have the power to push him free. He suddenly became aware that he had four limbs and two of them had rather unnatural strength. He had proven to Sparkplug, and thus earned his respect, when he had torn a floppy disk in half with his bare hands. The old vet tried, failed, then grumbled about what he could do "in his day". He moved his right arm, only to be alerted by a delicate series of nerves that his right arm was broken. A sense of dread crept into him as he slowly realised the screaming pain in his left shoulder was indicating to him a dislocation.

"I _am _going to die here".

He said it in such a way that it was meant to be reassuring, to tell himself the truth, for once, and that truth would set him free.

"I guess this is the part where I make myself right with God".

He sputtered. His voice seemed okay, though there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. His stomach ached at him and his chest was starting to make its protests clear.

He'd never had any real religious instruction, despite what he had sometimes told others, and himself, he certainly didn't like to be seen as ignorant, even on matters such as religion. But truth be told, he didn't know much about that side of life, and he hadn't really bothered to learn since it didn't have a place in his. Yeah, he knew Jews were circumcised and had been the slaves of some Pharaoh, he knew that Jesus was a Jew and that Christians worshipped Jesus, he knew Hindus had a lot of gods and goddesses and that they had those red dots on their heads and that Apu was a Hindu, he knew Muslims believed that there was no god but Allah and Muhammad was his prophet, he didn't know much about Mormons or Wiccans or Buddhists and he really didn't know anything about Catholics or Anglicans.

And so Chip was trapped with only his internal monologue for company, a monologue that told him he didn't know anything about the thing in life that was probably most valuable to most when they lay dying.

Well, if whatever or whoever resided after death was merciful and loving, surely they'd understand the mind of a man who'd suffered through so much.

There it was. The light. The light at the end of the tunnel. Go towards the tunnel.

_Chip._

They were calling his name.

_CHIP!_

He must go towards the light!

That meant he was going to Heaven, right, going towards the light! See, the god that so many worshiped or that none worshiped or were known or… well.. whoever… WHATEVER! He was going to Heaven!! Something up there loved him and knew him enough to let him into eternal bliss!

"Hang on Chip, I'll call for help, we'll get you out!"

_Wait… Rodimus? No… I have to go towards the light._

_Wait… did I say that…_

"Rod…i…mus?"

"Yeah, kid, its me".

Chip groaned.

"Well, sor-reeeeeeee".

Chip closed his eyes and was aware of the throbbing within his skull, just behind his forehead. His glasses had fallen off. His breathing slowed and he was aware of the taste of blood in the back of his throat.

"Chip, man, you gotta stay with me. Okay? You need to hang on. First Aid is coming, and you know how fast that guy goes when someone's in trouble".

"Ye..ah".

In what he would later claim was a result of his delusional state, he saw the figure, standing over him, slowing rotating his hand, the sound that had bought him comfort and took him back to happier times was now going to be forever associated with these moments. The die were rolled and they skipped in front of his field of vision until they stopped. But there were no series of dots that equalled a number, instead, on the six die were small skulls and all of them emitted tiny die sized laughs at him.

_You're going to die, Chip Chase, you're going to die._

"Rodimus… roll the die again… FARKLE!"

He slipped into a sleep he'd later wake.

--

**Author's NB: **I am so addicted to Farkle right now. Go Facebook applications!! Anyway, I had to get Rodimus to find Chip and I thought it'd be boring if it was just a page of Rodimus driving and a page of Chip lying comaed in an over turned car.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty Six**

**24****th**** December**

**0000hrs**

It was a pleasant place to be. Deep in his dreams, away from the mess of war, the nagging of his mother in law, the jabs of his wife, the cute ramblings of his son. Oh, but of course he still loved his family, his wife's family, his son was everything in his life, but every now and then he needed those dreams.

It was of a nicer time for him. A time when he felt as if he truly belonged somewhere. Where he didn't have that biting feeling that he was a disturbance, or was there to appease the curiosity of an alien species, or that he was just not wanted at all but was tolerated because of the higher up's need to push some PR appearance.

He was happy in this dream. He'd had it before and he loved it. He'd written it down in a book that he kept near his bed; he occasionally forgot to bring it with him on holidays, but not this season.

The house was warm and the pleasant yellow light from the sun crept in warming him. He was a young chap, very small; he was never sure how old he was in the dream. He'd walk through, his bare feet padding upon the wooden floors and then onto the warm carpet and then sensation changed as he stood on the lino floors of the kitchen. Such a happy place.

His mother stood at the bench pouring the batter of his favourite muffin flavour into the circular based tins. She realised he was there, turned, smiled the smile a mother smiles and then dabbed a wad of batter on the tip of her son's nose. Spike giggled and tried to lick it off, but his tongue wasn't able to reach so he simply scrapped it off with his index finger and then sucked it intently.

"How's my big man, today?"

"Great mum! I finished building the fort! You gotta come see! It can stop dragons!"

"Dragons? Well! In that case my little Knight I will have to just finish putting these muffins in the oven so you and your fellows can have a victory feast!"

She finished dabbing the batter into the tins and then it was into the pre-heated oven. He liked that feeling, the sensation of opening a cold oven to get that gust of warmth from inside. IT filled him with nostalgia for a time he could never return too.

From there the dream would progress to her taking his hand and walking out to see his fort.

But not this time.

She went out alone and when he turned to see who owned the shadow that was cast over him he saw it was his father.

"Hello, son".

"Dad!"

Spike was no longer little Spike or big man, or dragon vanquishing Knight, who stood before Sparkplug was Ambassador Spike Witwicky of Earth, friend to the Autobots and advocate for their rights on Earth, father to Daniel, husband to Carly.

"I have to talk to you about something very important Spike, and time ain't on my side".

"What about dad?"

"There's some things happening, bad things. You need to help them stop it".

"Them? Who's them dad? Oh god, Carly and Daniel?"

"They will be fine, son, but you know who them will be. Soon".

"How am I supposed to stop bad things happening? Aren't I doing that already? Oh wait… are the Decepticons regrouped already?"

"Not in the way you think, son".

"I don't understand, dad, what's going on?"

"Son, you remember the conversation we had after your mother died?"

"We had lots of conversations after mum died, how am I supposed to remember which one?"

"There are things in life, things that we can't explain, like what I am now".

"But dad, you're dead".

The words hurt to say, but as he spoke them he realised he had a moment of striking clarity. This was more then just a dream.

"Dad… you're dead".

"That's right son, and its something we've all gotta do. You won't wanna think about it, but Carly and Daniel and Daniel's children will all die, just like you will die, and even our Autobot friends, son. And just as I'm talking to you now, son, there are Autobots who are doing what I'm doing and talking to other Autobots".

"Dad… dad are you saying that the Autobots are being haunted? Is that why Chip rung and asked all those weird questions, wanting to know about your experiences and your priest friend?"

"I can't answer your questions, son, but you need to help them. There's something you know that can help".

"What, dad? What do I know?"

"You'll know when its needed".

"Dad I don't understand!"

But Sparkplug had gone.

"DAD!"

Spike sat bolt up right in bed, sweat dribbling from his face.

"Spike… Spike, what's the matter?"

Carly woke and sat up, placing her hands on his shoulders and asked the question again, her voice soothing.

"I had a strange dream, Carly, Dad was there, he said I knew something that would help the Autobots, he said they're being haunted… well, he didn't say it so much as implied it".

"Haunted? You mean by like ghosts?"

"I don't know, Carly".

"You really believe that?"

"Carly, honestly, I don't know what to believe. But how long ago did you and I and every other human think we were alone in the universe and if there were other races on other worlds they wouldn't be advanced enough or care enough to visit us".

"That's completely different, Spike, all those aliens exist in the physical world, they're not ghosts".

"But there are human ghosts, or things we call ghosts, stands to reason that a species almost like us could have the same sort of experience".

"So what are you planning to do about it?"

"I have to go, Carly, I have to…"

"On Christmas Eve? You're going to fly across the country, on Christmas Eve, leaving your son behind, your wife, your family to talk to Autobots about whether they've seen some ghosts based on a dream? Spike, do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

"Carly! Of course I know how crazy that is! But if you had that dream, the dream I just had… this is something I just have to do?"

"On Christmas Eve? Spike… please, you've already missed a few Christmases with Daniel and chances are you're going to miss a whole heap to come because of your job, please, Spike, please, don't give your son the wrong idea about his dad on Christmas. Just wait till morning and then we'll talk about it more".

Spike looked into the pleading eyes of his wife and sighed.

"Alright, Carly, I'll wait t…"

His cell phone suddenly rung. He picked it up instinctively before his wife could protest.

"Hey".

He listened intently to whoever was on the other end.

"Oh god! Really? Is he going to be okay?"

Concern drenched his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there ASAP".

He hung up and looked at his wife.

"Carly, Chip was in an accident, he's badly hurt, he's asking for me".

"Oh Spike".

Her voice was etched with disappointment. They held each other's gaze for a few moments until she sighed and lay back down, facing away from him.

"Spike, I won't tell you who to choose, whatever you do choose, it will haunt you for the rest of your life, you make your decision, I'm going back to sleep".

"He could die, Carly".

He whispered.

"Why does that bother you, he'll just come back and talk to you in your dreams".

As soon as she said it she regretted it. She sat up quickly and apologised. But Spike was already up.

"I have to go Carly, if you hate me, fine, if Daniel hates me, well, I'm sorry, but I have to be with my friend, especially if he's dying – he has no one else".

"He has science, lets see that comfort him now".

Carly was obviously jealous.

"Look, Sky Fire is coming to get me, I'll get there faster, then if he's okay, if he's stable, I'll come back, it's not Christmas for another 24 hours so I should hopefully be back by then".

"And if he is dying?"

She growled from her position under the covers.

"Then, well, I'll say my goodbyes and come back for a sad Christmas with a family Chip wished he'd always had".

"See you later, then".

Carly grumbled.

Spike got dressed, grabbed a few personal effects and left.

--

Author's NB: Man! It pisses me off to NO DAMN END when people write midnight in the 24 hour clock as 2400hrs!! THERE'S NO SUCH BLOODY THING!!! The last minute of one day is 2359 as soon as it ticks midnight it's the new day. Where I work so many people make this mistake, they put 2400 at the end of one day, but its not the END of the day it's the START or the next and the 24th hour is NOT 2400 its 2300 because 0000 – 0100 is the first hour!!!!!! And I try to explain this to people and either they like their ignorance or they just don't care!!! I get all OCD over this!! I mean, you don't see 2430 written, do you? No, you don't, you know why, BECAUSE THERE'S NO SUCH BLOODY THING AS TWENTY FOUR HUNDRED!! ITS ZERO HUNDRED!!

I mean, _really, _I'm dyslexic and I get it.

Thus, ends my rant.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

**24****th**** December**

**0100hrs**

Regarding humans, it is said that when waking from a coma or other traumatic form of unconsciousness, hearing is the first sense to be regained, and when venturing towards death it is the last sense to leave. The red twin was unsure if it was generally the same for Autobots, but the first thing he became aware of was the stench.

It brushed across his olfactory sensors and forced the converted impulses up into his CPU where it associated that stench with a musty damp odour, and the odour of death long since undiscovered in such a place.

Then his awareness of what he returned, or he at least acknowledged it.

_Now if you load your rifle right_…

"What?"

_And if you fix your bayonet so_

Music…

_And if you kill that man, my friend, the one we call the foe_

Human music…

_And if you do it often lad_

Its words, while sung pleasantly enough, stung him.

_And if you do it right_

It drifted on the foul air around him.

_You'll be a hero overnight_

Strangely, perhaps eerily poignant.

_You'll save your country from her plight_

He and his brother had heard those words many times.

_Remember God is always right_

He pulled himself from the sludge at that.

_If you survive to see the sight, friend now greeting foe_

No, he didn't expect he would. Didn't think he really wanted to.

_No, you won't believe in If anymore_

"I guess not".

_Its an illusion_

Likewise, the music's origins.

_Its an illusion_

He decided to locate the source. Maybe find someone down here.

_No, you won't believe in If anymore_

Some one alive.

_If is for children_

Was that what he was?

_If is for children_

Were the lyrics written in the past by a human who had foresight…

_Building daydreams_

With the sole intent of mocking him?

_If I knew then what I know now_

He'd certainly said that enough times…

_I thought I did you know somehow_

He began the walk through the sludge towards it.

_If I could have the time again_

No, he definitely did NOT want to go through this again.

_I'd take the sunshine and leave the rain_

Went without saying…

_If only time would trickle slow_

The tunnel was black, the sludge under his feet cold, but the music was getting louder, clearer.

_Like rain that melts the fallen snow_

A dim light up ahead broke out from the pitch.

_If only Lord, if only_

Please, let this be the end of this debacle.

_If only Lord, if only_

I will go to service every week, Primus, I swear!

_Oh I don't believe in If anymore_

The music came from a small room type structure off the main tunnel.

_Its an illusion_

There was a human.

_Its an illusion_

He was sitting with his back to the Autobot.

_Oh I don't believe in If anymore_

There was an old device on the rickety table; humans called it a "radio".

_If is for children_

The man was wearing heavy, worn clothing. Strong boots. A hard hat.

_If is for children_

The light came from a small oil fuelled lamp.

_Building daydreams_

He was whittling something.

_No I don't believe in if anymore_

"Hello".

_Its an illusion_

The man didn't respond.

_Its an illusion_

"Hey! Human, how do I get out of here?"

_No I don't believe in if anymore_

The man stopped whittling, his head slowly lifted, but he remained facing the away.

_If is for children_

"I'm talking to you human, its rude not to respond".

_If is for children_

Sideswipe wished he hadn't bothered the man as he watched him slowly turn to face him.

_Building daydreams_

Only there was no face. Only blackness or rather, emptiness.

The music stopped abruptly, and the man stood, the knife in his right hand and the piece of wood in his left dropping simultaneously until they disappeared into the sludge.

"Ah… I'm sorry for disturbing you, I'll… I'll just be going now… hehe".

The man took a step towards the Autobot.

"They… are… here…"

"What? Who?"

"They… are… here…"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand".

"No… you… don't… they… are… here…"

"Okay… what do I do about _them_?"

"Into… swine…"

"What?"

"Into… swine…"

"Who?"

"They… are… here…"

"Yes, yes, I gathered that! But who? Who are they?"

"Legion".

"What? That makes no sense".

"They… are… here…."

Sideswipe was more frustrated than frightened at this point, and he face palmed if only to express to himself that irritation.

"You've said that many times, but who is…"

He looked up and noticed the man, his radio, his table, his knife, his whittling… all gone.

"Well! Of course!"

He threw his arms up in annoyance.

"Okay, get it together Sides, you can do this, you can sort this slag out, I'll go find Sunny, he'll know what to do".

_Its an illusion._

The words suddenly past through his CPU, it was rather disembodied; there was no physical source around him that it came from. It sent a chill down his linkage as he reaslised just how messed up this whole situation was. But he had to push all of that aside and find his brother, find the way out, find… well… an answer.

The muck was ankle deep in parts, and it bothered him, he wondered how his brother would be faring in this sludge pit. There was a shrill eeriness to the environment he traversed, deep within the underground world the humans had crafted to satisfy their need for shiny metals or was it coal they dug from these bowels? It was hard to tell. They were like a virus, really, moving from place to place, taking what they needed and leaving nothing and caring little about the native life that lived in balance with the place they claimed.

It had been one of Optimus' concerns when debating whether to share that tech with the humans or even if it was right to take them on their own Autobot shuttles. Spike was one thing, he alone couldn't destroy an entire planet's eco-system, and from what Sideswipe understood, it took two humans to create more humans.

The inane chatter in his CPU kept him company as he trotted through the swill that lay about his feet. The stink was still there, but it still wasn't offensive enough to warrant shutting down his olfactory's. Up ahead there was a light, just a small flicker, he went towards it.

--

**Author's NB: **I like Roger Whittaker. I'm not ashamed to admit it. But the creepiest thing happened to me once involved his music. I saw this horror movie where a person woke to hear his music and found the entire town empty. Well, one morning I woke up in the student hostel I lived in, to hear his words wafting through the window, there was a slight breeze and of the 104 people who were supposed to be in that hostel, I couldn't find anyone!! It was a Sunday morning, and it was 8am so they were probably all past out somewhere, but I couldn't find out where the music was coming from!!

Anyway, I hand wrote this chapter last night on shift during the only quiet time we had before the horrors of a 6 bed women's room kicked in at about 3am.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's NB: **Just a real quick note, since I only just now remembered I forgot to do it and it takes my computer too long to sort it so I'll just write it here.

The last chapter had lyrics from an **AWESOME **song by **Roger Whittaker**, called **I don't believe in If anymore**, this awesome guy owns this song not me. I just used it for two reasons, because its awesome and I wanted to include his awesomeness in this story and maybe someone will go and buy this song to hear his awesomeness, second reason was its been on my brain for a few days.

PS: Don't steal music. If you take something you don't own, didn't ask for, weren't gifted or didn't pay for then its stealing and stealing is very, _very _naughty. And as someone who had a very precious Palisades Nemesis stolen from my flat, along with a very expensive RiD Galvatron I tend to get a bit "irritated" when I hear about stealers stealing stuff. Its like the douche at work who keep stealing the hot chocolate from the locked staff room (so they're staff!!) and now we don't any hot chocolate cos management is sick of buying it for us if people keep stealing!

Rant over, on to story:

--

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

**24****th**** December**

**0200hrs**

The first words past Springer's lip components as he regained awareness should never be written or spoken of again.

He stood slowly, his struts aching as he pushed himself out of the smelly sludge he found himself laying face down in. Thank Primus he wasn't an organic, as such a position would have resulted in him suffocating.

"First thing I do when I get out of this mess… shower… all the way. To the pit with Magnus' rationing, I'm going the whole nine yards, full soap, wax and polish".

The aerial commander grumbled to himself as he walked towards the only exit from the small chamber he was in. His infrared sensors allowing him a little more sight then the twins had previously experienced given his need for it was a little higher priority, so his were more well tuned.

"This is one fine mess".

Tracing his fingers along the wall he found to be rather cathartic. He had no idea why, but continued to do it as he walked along what appeared to be a very long tunnel. He contemplated the likelihood of surviving if he just punched through the roof. Of course, his scanners seemed to be on the fritz and weren't giving him any realistic reading of how much dirt was above his head, he decided not to risk it. From somewhere deep in the sub terrain mess he was in he heard a cackle. Obviously Perceptor. Springer could probably take the scientist on, and win, but of course that might not impress First Aid much so he thought against actively hunting the geek. Instead, he realised he was just going to have to find his own way out, then go get help for Percy and maybe the twins if he wasn't still burning with rage for those two bastards.

Sideswipe was okay, and best when he was free of his yellow double. But Sunstreaker was an arrogant prat that would keep his own company quite nicely and would openly distain anyone else.

On Cybertron Springer had been the guy that got the mission the Twins got. The hard ones. The ones that would end with a pile of corpses and a lot of traumatised mechs if not handled correctly. Yes, Autobots, and probably Decepticons, got a form of what the humans called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. But Springer, he was a rare breed, he could put that behind him, do his job and do it well, keep a smile on his face and most importantly the sanity in his CPU. Unlike a certain set of twins…

The cackle echoed through the tunnel again it was carried along by a cool breeze which was slightly damper and much fouler then the other air that wafted about the place. Springer made the snap decision that perhaps hunting the scientist down wasn't such a bad idea, maybe he could bash some sense into him the nerd could find a way out, or at least get his communicator running, all Springer was getting since he woke up in this place was static with the occasional syllable.

Noting a few large boulders up ahead he decided he had earned a rest and so sat down. They supported his weight nicely. He had to admit, it was a large tunnel, obviously the Decepticons had expanded on the human mining operation. He tried his communicator.

Static.

He tuned it slightly.

More static.

He increased its strength, re-directing power from his transform mechanisms (which he wouldn't need down here).

Wait… no… just static.

He heard his internal voice grate.

"dammit".

He whispered into the eerie shaft.

While inwardly adjusting the frequency he was sure he caught something, a word, but he was unsure, he pedantically fidgeted with it, in an attempt to pull it back.

And there it was, in amongst the static was a word… no… a name.

His name.

Amongst the grating static was his name!

He jumped up, perhaps for joy and gave a small "woo hoo" and then attempted to fine tune the frequency reading.

Still just the static. His name was repeated.

Persisting he was able to get the static down to a minimum. It was still fracturing whatever words were being spoken, but he was still able to make them out, and it chilled his energon cold.

"We……..se…….ou……ringer……"

Suddenly a blast of static ruptured through his audios, temporarily flicking them offline, he dropped to his knees and grabbed at his head growling out in annoyance and pain.

After a few moments of being down in the muck the static died down again, it was still noticeable. He stood again, slowly, aching. He looked around, he saw nothing.

The static then died and in its place were whispers.

"Hey! You think I'm scared of you…, you whatever you are? Shut up, okay? Shut the pit up!"

He growled as he stepped around on an invisible mark.

"Bloody things".

He sort of knew what those things were, but didn't want to say it, for fear of giving them power. The static was silenced, along with whatever voice had been present and the aerial commander turned and marched towards the direction of the cackle.

Springer was by no means the tallest Autobot, but he was for his height, one of the heaviest, he had a lot of bulk and a lot of power and that coupled with his annoyance at the situation and his general lack of grace, his marching was so heavy footed that the ground underneath him caved in and he was dropped down at least a hundred metres into the pitch of the cold earth.

Instead of hitting with a sloppy thump like he'd a few minutes to think about while free falling, he hit with a solid clang. It was ever so uncomfortable and it jarred his systems, but thankfully he didn't offline. As he pulled himself into a standing position he was aware of a familiar scraping sound. Metal on metal. His metal body on something metal. His optics relayed to his CPU through their infrared haze that he was standing on a metal floor. About three metres to his left was a purple mark, and while part of it was obscured by clumps of dirt from the floor he'd been momentarily walking upon, it was very obvious to him what it was.

A bloody Con insignia.

"That can't be good".

Pivoting slowly his optics gave him a good indication of what was down in this hole with him.

A ship.

Or what remained of a ship.

Definitely a Decepticon model.

It was certainly not war class like most of their vessels, it was too small to be a freight carrier or some sort, but not small enough to be an escape module. Perhaps capable of carrying 10 mechs, perhaps a science vessel or a scouting ship seeking out suitable planets? He couldn't be sure until he was inside it. Approaching it filled him with a sort of dread; something he didn't realise was that uncomfortable until he was in arm's length of it.

There was no light from the hole above. There was only the light green fuzz that past as Autobot infrared. He tried explaining to Daniel once that it wasn't actually red, after Arcee explained she'd woke from recharge to find he had coloured over her optics with a red crayon. And try as he might, Ratchet couldn't be mad at a child who just didn't know any better. But back to the ship, his mind commanded. Its metal was still in reasonable shape, despite the damp and the slope there was no sign of rust or corrosion or decay of any form. The glass in the cockpit's window wasn't even shattered, though there was a large crack that ran along the vertical plane of the side hatch's window. Reached out to touch the handle, but instead was given a rather sharp shock as to why not to attempt a breech of a Decepticon shuttle.

"Should have guessed".

But the power in the burst wasn't painful, perhaps at one time it was meant to kill, but it wasn't strong enough now, possibly the fuel source that powered it had slowly succumbed to time.

He was no expert on Decepticon shuttle technology but it looked much older then the Nemesis.

He heard a scream.

It came from behind him.

Not above, but behind.

To hell with force fields and infrared, he smashed his fist through the force shield which protested with a jolt of its own but then gave out with a rather sad fizzle. Springer grasped the door handle and gave it a good yank and found, much to his delight, and perhaps a little horror, that it opened.

Once inside he shut the door behind him, closing it on that screaming. It was such an awful sound, it was almost like a femme, but no femme he'd ever met screamed like that – maybe it was Percy? He gave a small chuckle and then took to looking around the shuttle he found himself in.

While the outside had been in surprisingly unusually good condition, the inside wasn't. The chairs had been torn from their place and strewn about the room; one was ripped right down the centre. The control panel was shattered and smashed beyond repair and there were large finger scrapes along the floor coming from the door. Obviously someone had tried to escape but didn't get very far. There were smudges that experience told him were energon, even if the tell tale glimmer was gone. There were fragments of broken glass lying about at his feet, the lights above their source, they too had been shattered. He walked towards a partially ajar door that would lead into the back. He had to wonder if he was making the right choice here. Sneaking through an abandoned ancient Deception ship that was the sight of something awful, deep underground, a crazy and perhaps possessed scientist running around, not to mention the twins. He found some difficultly in pushing away his doubts but found the motivation to keep moving. Something caught his optic and he turned to look down, there, resting against half of a shredded chair was a head.

"How interesting".

His voice slightly stunned, but trying to act blasé about it.

It proved to him that whatever violence had transpired here, it had been… well… vicious. It showed evidence of being almost animalistically ripped from its owner. The glass of its very dead optics were shattered, those round disks staring out at him was unsettling, though. Its mouth was open and part of the jaw had been dented so badly it probably wouldn't have shut properly. There was a black stain around its head, obviously oil or dried energon or something that didn't belong outside a body. The cranium casing had four distinct tears in it, deep enough to express its particular form of malice against the CPU itself. Fingers had made those wounds.

Springer removed his attention from the head and opened the door.

He really wished he hadn't.

He really wished his infrared wasn't working.

He wished he was back at base annoying Magnus or stirring Kup or in his berth with his naked Arcee splayed out next to him.

Anywhere but here.

Anywhere but here, staring up at the lifeless corpses of ancient Decepticon warriors hanging from the ceiling.

Their optics open wide and staring at him though those dead CPUs would not register the presence of an Autobot.

Springer decided to take the company of a cackling Perceptor or a disembodied scream, he backed out of the ship and stood there staring at it, wondering what in the Pit happened on board. No Autobot would ever unleash a fury like that… but that would mean a Decepticon would. It was by no means unheard of for a Con to loose it and cull his nearest and slowest kin, but he'd never known of anything of this scale.

Chilling.

Just chilling.

He needed to get away from it.

He turned and ran.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

**24****th**** December**

**0400hrs**

Spike stepped off the Autobot that functioned as a rather comfortable flight experience. No one greeted him on the tarmac and he simply gave his thanks to Sky Fire who was more then happy to accept it, and add in a few minutes of chatter. The ambassador was a good friend to the one time Decepticon and was happy to oblige.

A few moments later he was briskly walking to the human section of the repair bay to see Chip and hopefully see him alive. Something had changed though, the feeling he was getting as he walked through those orange twinge corridors just didn't seem right. Something was definitely off. He was passed by a few early morning mechs either coming or going from late shifts or just out and up to mischief, or perhaps in engaged in some altered version of Christmas. A chill of sadness passed him, this would be the first Christmas without "Santa Prime" as he'd come to be known. It had come to pass that Sparkplug explained to Prime what Santa was and how on many a Christmas eve he'd dress as the giant red clad health risk and sneak around the house trying to wake Spike discreetly. They were fond memories that Spike had of his father, and when Prime had discussed the matter with him he'd told him how it made him feel safe, especially since after his mother had died it was like he was almost forgotten. So, Prime, and Lord only knew how he got that much red fabric and cotton wool, donned a suit, grabbed a sack (again, Lord only knew where he got such a large sack) and filled it with energon goodies and a whole host of other Transformer presents. Would Rodimus don himself in gay apparel? Unlikely. Especially given the recent events. One thing was sure, Daniel wouldn't be seeing Santa this year, maybe Carly's father would pick up the slack, but it would be memories of another man taking the place of his dad dressed as Santa and those memories would flow through into a young man who would have his own family. What damage was he doing to Daniel, Spike queried as he walked along, he turned out okay, didn't he? But of course Sparkplug as fervent in keeping things "normal", to him the Autobots were friends, yes, but they were considered a hobby by the vet. He would assist them as he could, but that assistance wouldn't take him away from family events or holidays.

Spike reached the repair bay, and was somewhat amazed at how long his internal conversation had been. Inside, First Aid was rushing around like a mad man, foraging through large piles of digipads and goodness only knew what else. He threw his hands up in frustration, uttered some swears, which sounded foreign coming from the usually peaceful and calm pacifist.

"Ahem".

Spike cleared his throat, scaring the medic slightly who proceeded to jump and spin around to see the interruption.

"Hey, First Aid, can I see Chip?"

He asked rather straight forward.

"Um… Spike… you startled me".

"Sorry".

"No apology needed, you just caught me in an off moment. Its been quite hectic here".

"Yeah, I can see. So, can I see Chip?"

"Oh right, right, sorry, sure, sure, he's in room six".

He was definitely out of character, something wasn't right.

"Hey, are you okay, Aid? You seem a little… flustered".

First Aid slumped down into a chair and looked down at the human and just sighed, his shoulders slumping, his optics dimming, he oozed the emotional instability of defeat.

"Things are a real mess, Spike. I'm sorry; I shouldn't be offloading on you".

"No problem, First Aid, we all need people to talk things through with, so why don't you give me an ear full, or an "audio" full as you guys say".

First Aid smiled under his mask.

"Thank you, Spike, you're a true friend".

First Aid took the all important pre-speaking inspiration and was about to let loose what the human realised was going to be a torrent of stress when a chair came tearing through the air towards them, striking the medic in the back of the head and knocking him to the ground.

"What the hell!"

Spike yelled in surprise as he moved to get out of the way of the falling medic.

First Aid lay there moaning, Spike's eyes followed the former path of the chair until his view fell upon the seething Ultra Magnus standing with one foot resting on the pane of the viewing window he had just shattered, his hands gripping the jagged edges.

"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

He roared as he ripped the remaining glass and leapt up and out landing violently on First Aid's back, he seemed disinterested in the human as he began pounding fists griping jagged glass down on the newly promoted CMO. The medic attempted to squirm his way free but failed.

"Magnus! STOP!"

But the cries of the human were of no consequence. Spike realised he could do nothing to cease the actions of the massive Autobot; he ran to the emergency alert button and smashed his fist into it. The lights went red and started to flash in sync with the blaring siren. Magnus reacted to that.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!"

As he stood, First Aid was pulled up by the scruff, and then hurled towards the window. The window that looked out over the city. The seven (robot sized) story window. First Aid smashed through and would plummet down to a rather messy set of critical injuries. Spike took a step away from the door and watched as Magnus stormed towards it, again, paying him no heed, but when Spike looked up at the city commander tearing the door from its fixtures he noticed something rather unsettling to say the least.

His optics were black.

"Ultra Magnus?"

The human took a chance.

Whatever it was that was in of Magnus, tearing through his CPU with its malice aforethought stopped the vandalising actions and turned to regard him.

Those black optics bore right into him, and it made the man shrink to an even smaller height before the metallic behemoth.

"There is no Ultra Magnus".

It growled out, a black sludge oozing from the corner of his lips and down his chin.

"Who are you?"

Spike asked.

"We are legion".

It then turned its attention to the door.

"What do you want? Why are you here?"

"THERE IS ONLY LEGION!"

It screamed and punched through the violated door and into the corridor. Right into Kup and a few security troops.

"THERE IS ONLY LEGION!"

It screamed through Magnus' vocaliser as it grabbed one of the unfortunate security officers and hurled him down the hallway into the oncoming Rodimus.

"Lad, calm down, we can help you, now stop all these shenanigans".

Kup said softly, with a tone that suggested a lot of experience talking to those who had lost it.

The thing within Magnus turned and slammed Magnus' fist into Kup's aged face. The blow didn't kill him, but it do some serious damage and it did throw him into stasis lock. The city commander then turned and ran off in the other direction.

"Holy shit".

Spike whispered.

"Holy shit is right".

Rodimus gasped as he finally pulled himself free of the tangled security officer, also in stasis lock.

"This is starting to piss me off, seriously, Spike, there's only such a commander can take!!"

"I'm sure you're doing fine".

Spike said, for lack of anything else.

"Seriously? You think so! Well, gosh and golly, Sir, thanks so much for your vote of confidence, when can I expect my performance review, I bet you h…"

"Sarcasm isn't a foreign concept to humans, you know".

"Ahah… huh… yeah… sorry, Spike, but you gotta allow me a bit of angst over all this mess… waitasec, what are you doing here, I thought you were with family… oh wait, you came to see Chip, right, I remember Sky Fire saying something about grabbing you or something… I dunno. I just don't know, Spike. You got any advice, you hung around Prime longer then I did, maybe you can instil some of his wisdom to me".

"Nope, sorry Rod, I'm totally obtuse to this leadership business of your's, all I can say is… well… I need to talk to Chip".

"What? Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

His blood chilled.

"He's in a coma, in pretty deep, but First Aid didn't want to tell you over the phone".

"Well, is he okay?"

"Don't ask me, I'm no medic, and I know about one fifth of jack shit empty when it comes to human stuff".

"I'm sure First Aid can tell you… oh… slag".

Rodimus had entered the repair bay and had curiosity walked over to the broken window, his scanners relayed to him the injured CMO lying below.

"Its just one thing after the next, isn't it?"

He said more to himself then to the concerned human.

"I'm going to find Chip".

Spike replied and managed to get through the damage Magnus had created.

"Oh great, just great, thanks a lot Primus!"

Rodimus threw his hands up in frustration just as he heard a voice behind him.

"Yo, Rod man".

"Jazz, yes, you can take over right?"

"What?"

"Great, you're hired".

"Ex-squeeze me?"

"Be a pal and sort all this slag out, okay?"

Rodimus then pushed passed the Autobot and was gone quickly from the section.

"Slag".

--

Chip lay in an undisturbed bed in an undisturbed room. The tubes and wires and machines ticked and whirled with the intention that went way beyond anything the ambassador understood. Spike sat down in the small stool next to the bed. Mass displacement. Was that what it was called? That allowed transformers to essentially shrink or expand their size to accommodate whatever? And being a medic he sometimes needed to get into tight spots and a quick drop in about 5 metres would be most welcome. It also allowed him to work with humans. He couldn't remembered if he'd ever seen Ratchet do it…

He reached out and took the hand of his friend. It had a rather messy looking luer in situ; three of his fingers on that hand were broken and taped. There was a small cast type wrapping on his lower arm and several large gashes that had been expertly sutured. The rest of him was in no better condition and Spike decided not to concentrate on it any longer for fear his ignorance would cause him despair at seeing so much connected to his friend.

"Chip".

He said softly.

"They reckon, that people in comas can still hear… that's it like the first sense to come back and the last one to go".

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"Oh man, Chip, I hope you're okay in there. I don't know what to do. I'm guessing there's been some crazy stuff going on, I mean, what the hell was up with Magnus? Who is legion and why is he in Magnus' body? Does all this have something to do with those questions you were asking me about my dad and his "experiences" and that priest? Chip, you were always smarter then me, its times like this I wish you could just open your eyes and say, Spike, listen up, cos I'm only going to say this once".

"Spike, listen up… cos I'm only going to say this once".

Spike jumped up off the stool and was still firmly grasping his friend's hand as he fell backwards pulling the comatosed man partially from the bed.

"WHAT??!!"

He screeched in shock as he noticed Chip's blue eyes open and staring at him.

"Spike, listen up… cos I'm only going to say this once".

Spike managed to let go of the hand but still remained on the floor and still freaked out… was a nice way of stating it.

"Spike, listen up… cos I'm only going to say this once".

Chip sat up in the bed, whatever was speaking through him was obviously not Chip and was obviously not concerned with the machines and tubes and other medical apparatus keeping in from taking that journey across the Stix.

"Say… say what?"

Spike stammered.

"Spike Witwicky… you are Spike Witwicky".

"Ye… yes".

"Son of Sparkplug Witwicky… you are Spike Witwicky".

"Yeah".

"You must listen".

"Yeah".

"They are here".

"Who?"

"Listen".

"Yeah".

"They are here".

"Yeah".

"Find the place of origin".

"Okay… how?"

"Attend with those who seek the lost".

"What does that mean?"

"Spike, listen up… cos I'm only going to say this once".

The voice that spoke through him ceased and Chip's body flopped back down to the bed. The noise of the machines and tubes and fluids and of breathing made itself known to the ambassador again. Chip was back in his coma. He would never recall these words, despite Spike's reassurance that they had happened, and despite the fact it was all caught on surveillance cameras, the footage would make it to YouTube and it would cause a flood of conspiracy theories, spoofs, accusations and of course evidence that it was real.

Spike pulled himself up off the floor, taking care not to bump anything. He didn't have any idea what Chip… well "Chip" was on about, and after seeing Magnus' little tantrum he decided it was best to leave. Quickly.

--

Spike was standing outside on the tarmac waiting for Skyfire to finish re-fuelling. Suddenly he noted Jazz walking along with Blaster, the two friends acknowledged the man and when Spike asked where they were going he was answered. They were going to an old Decepticon base where it was believed the twins had taken Perceptor and Springer – who they had kidnapped after going "loco" as Blaster had ever so politely put it. In his head the words that Spike had heard Chip utter, well, "Chip", played, "Attend with those who seek the lost". It wasn't even correct English… was it? He didn't think grammar mattered to "Chip".

He actually asked it before he realised that's what he was asking.

"Mind if I tag along, it'll be like old times".

He couldn't cram it back into his mouth and the grins and laughs of acceptance from the two Autobots told him it was too late to recant.

"Oh right then! Lets go find them lost bots".

Jazz chortled as he transformed to make it easier for Spike to accompany them to their rendezvous of Autobots who would be going on this little mission.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

**24****th**** December**

**0500hrs**

The moon had left the sky and the sun hadn't quite gotten itself up yet, a few dots of light indicated by stars was unable to fight back the early morn's disregard for illumination.

Spike got out of Jazz, his head lights beaming intensely towards the entrance to the former Decepticon base. Spike remembered this place, and his memories of it were none to pleasant, he pushed them aside and took a few steps forward, to give the Autobots room to transform, but not looking back as he had seen it enough times. He'd always said he'd never get tired of see it, never grow bored of just how amazing it was… well, he had. A stinking gust of wind blew out and brushed against his face, it was rather powerful, but not powerful enough that he thought that deep inside that hive was something that it had created it intentionally.

"Are you sure they're down _there_?"

He heard the nervous voice of the only Autobot present who's name he didn't know. That wasn't unusual given there were so many on Earth now, he couldn't be expected to learn of their names, ranks and serial numbers. By the time they'd get out of this mess, his name would have never mattered to Spike, and to an extent it wouldn't matter to anyone else bar those who were inscribing it on his crypt chamber.

"Let's get this shit sorted".

Rodimus said with a firm voice, a distant memory of the Rodimus who tucked tail and ran from the repair bay, Spike thought. Obviously the Prime had gotten himself together enough to show up for this little "mission" of theirs.

"I don't like the idea of splitting up into singles, so Jazz you and Blaster, Kup you and Me and newbie, you stay out here and keep an eye on any mischief".

Obviously Rodimus didn't know the new guy's name either, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Pick your team, Spike".

"I'll go with these two, someone's gotta keep them out of trouble".

He said as he motioned to Blaster and Jazz.

"Okay, so you guys got the downloaded intel about this place? Great. Chances are its changed over the years its been empty, so just get in there, follow the scanners to our guys, get them, and get out, but be sure to radio the other team and let them know. I for one don't want to be stuck down there while you guys are partying, especially with the old man here".

Rodimus was of course joking, and Kup simply laughed. They collectively entered.

The entrance allowed them access to a long snaking tunnel, Decepticon insignias and colouring brandishing everything they passed; security mechanisms long since deactivated still gave them all the chills. It eventually came to a fork in the road. Rodimus simply shrugged and took the left one, leaving the right to Spike and his little team.

It was about twenty minutes when the three came across the room where Perceptor had been kept captive with the Aerial commander. The broken table protruding through the doors and all manner of poorly assembled sciencey stuff shattered about the place. There were broken shackles hanging from one of the walls and a giant hole in the middle of the floor.

"Wow, what kind of jamming did they get to up in this place?"

Jazz asked as he crouched down by the edge of the hole.

"Careful Jazz, you don't wanna fall, cos I for one am not climbing down there to get you".

Spike chuckled.

"Speaking of jamming, my radio is fritzing something awful".

Blaster tapped the side of his helmet.

"Don't worry yourself Spike mah main man, I don't wanna give my servos the kind of jarring that fall would give a mech".

He stood and turned to face Blaster.

"I'm guessing by the science stuff, the mess and the yellow flecks of Autobot paint that those guys fell through that hole".

Blaster pointed to accent his point.

"How you wanna roll?"

Jazz asked.

"Well, I don't like the idea of one of us running through here to find Rod and tell him we think we know where they're at, but then I can't radio them. So, I guess, since our orders are to find the peeps is to go down there".

"Sounds like a plan".

"Right, so how do we get down there?"

Spike asked.

"You leave that up to us, chill?"

Jazz chuckled as he aimed his arm up at the roof, his hand folded back into his arm and a grappling hook took its place. Spike had forgotten that little snippet of info about the saboteur. The hook was fired and grasped itself quite firmly into the metal wall. Blaster grabbed on, and Jazz picked up Spike with his other hand and the three were lowered down into the deep darkness, the human felt a lump rise within his throat, but swallowed it quickly, much to its protest.

And it was certainly very dark down there. Spike said nothing, but he was aware of his muscles tensing, his gut cramping, his breathing becoming deeper, his heart racing and a single bead of sweat finding its way from his hairline, across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. The two Autobots were not naïve to the processes of the human body that expressed apprehension. Jazz flicked on his lights to a power suitable for their vision and not damaging to the human's.

"Thanks Jazz".

Spike said, the three of them knowing why he was expressing such gratitude.

"Guess we go this way".

The man pointed towards the tunnel that lay ahead of them, branching out from the chamber they were in.

"That's what my sensors say".

Blaster stated, referring to the Autobot signature or signatures that were down here.

The three began the trek through the muck towards what was hopefully functioning and sane Autobot companions.

"You know, I didn't think it was possible, but its actually colder here then on the moon!"

Spike gave an uncomfortable chuckle, it betrayed his fear, the other two picked up on it but ignored it, not so much for his honour or sake of his bravery, but more to the point they didn't want to be reminded of just how unsettling it was down here.

"Yeah, that was pretty damn nippy!"

Blaster replied, his internal sensors telling him that it was actually a lot colder on the moon.

"I'm more annoyed at how quiet it is down here".

Jazz grumbled.

"Remember that time when I rigged up the comm. system to blast out Lily Allen's Window Shopper Nan song?"

"How can I forget, Prowl was tearing out servos for a week! Not to mention how paranoid Red Alert got cos you got past his pass codes".

Blaster chuckled. The three shared a genuine laugh, forgetting for a moment just how awful it was in this place.

"That's nothing, when I was a kid I thought it'd be funny to get an air horn to wake up my dad on Fathers' day, but instead I got the bright idea to strap it to a mega horn and let rip. By god it was loud, I swear, the neighbour's windows shattered!"

He laughed.

The others joined him, not sure if it was true or an exaggeration but it didn't matter, it was a distraction.

They shared a few more equally altered stories to pass the time. And when the silence began to creep in between them someone would say something mundane or random, like Blaster's question about bellybutton lint and if Spike kept a stash, or Jazz's statement that he thought the new Prime was going to be getting a lot of aft, especially now since Arcee was more focused on Springer. Spike wasn't stupid, he'd learnt from just tales he'd heard and a few things he'd stumbled upon that suggested they reproduced in a more complex way then a construction line.

"So, Spike, you and Carly going to have any more of those things?"

Jazz asked.

"What things?"

"You know, what Daniel is".

"Oh, kids, yeah, I dunno, maybe. I want to, but honestly I wonder how I can find time for them, since I barely have time to spend with Danno any more. My job is taking me away from him".

"Well, do what Sparkplug did, bring him along with you".

"Carly wants Daniel to have a normal childhood".

"You guys turned out okay".

Blaster added.

"True, but that was because we were older – well, that's her justification".

"But all Danno's ever known is the Autobot thing, he probably doesn't even understand that there are other methods".

Jazz chimed in.

"Not to tell you how to raise your sparkling, but you might do more damage to him if you suddenly pull him away from it".

"I said the same thing to Carly, Blaster. But she's adamant he plays with humans his own age, and that the recent events might have marred him somewhat. He's been really quiet since Prime died. But then he was the same after dad went. But kids are resilient, he'll get over it".

"I guess she's only out to protect him, your females can get quite aggressive when protecting their offspring, right?"

Jazz asked.

"Most of them, yeah, and I have to say I didn't think Carly would end up like that. I wish she'd actually head back to work, put that MIT PhD thing of her's to good use. I mean, what message is that sending our son, work hard for something and then don't' use it, don't put anything to use, just sit at home and waste your talents".

"Pretty deep convo, right?"

Jazz chuckled.

"Better then the silence down here".

Blaster added.

And then there was the scream.

It was high pitched and lasted a good twenty seconds. It was sharp and grating and was a scream a person in pain might utter as their body was savaged.

"What was that?"

Spike screeched, a little too girly for his liking, but the two mechs with him didn't seem to notice, or care.

"I dunno, but its coming from up ahead".

"Blaster, what does the scanner say, is it an Autobot?"

"Not sure, Jazz, its gone dead".

"What'd'ya mean, dead?"

"The scanner won't pick up anything, its completely dead, no signal, nothing, not even a battery low red light".

"Well, guess there's only one way to find out what it is".

Spike said as he decided to prove he wasn't a complete pansy and he walked forward towards it.

"Come on guys, our friends are down here, we need to find them".

"Well, Percy and Springer yeah, but those damn twins".

Jazz grumbled.

"Well, Sides is okay in small doses".

The conversation then turned to their antics, recent and past and how much of an arse Sunstreaker was and how Sideswipe could be okay at times, but was generally a tool of his brother's vanity.

--

The scream hit them again.

This time it wasn't short, sharp and sweet… well, maybe not sweet. It was the sort of bay that would curdle milk the type that would make mother's cover their children's ears, the type of scream that reduced the bravest of men and mechs to their knees. And it came in a chorus, they continued, over and over again. There were moments within the screaming where there was a sob or a cackle of some description but they didn't stop.

The more Spike heard of them, the less he seemed to worry about them, they weren't so scary as he had thought. Something really chilled the blood to hear a single scream in the soggy bowels of a former Decepticon base, but to hear so many so often, it was more as if someone needed help and he was sure he could find a way to put aside his discomfort at the environment and give some assist. The two mechs seemed to think the same judging by the expressions on their face plates.

In the light Jazz provided they were able to see something up ahead. Something cowering against the side of a cave in. It was at times clawing at it, other times it was just whimpering, and then at times uttering those dreadful bellows.

"Oi! You!"

Jazz called out.

"_Oi! You!_ That's how you get its attention?"

Blaster asked with a slight chuckle.

It didn't really matter, as it worked.

The produce of said screams stopped its motions of clawing and its noise and it turned slowly. Its movements ever so intentional. And it stared at them. The light from Jazz catching its optics. They were black. Empty. It was the scientist.

"Percy?"

Jazz said softly, he was certainly no fan of the scientist's almost snooty demeanour and the way he seemed to use big words if only to show up everyone else, to prove that while he wouldn't win in a fight against Megat… ah… Galvatron, he was still a Pit of a lot smarter.

His moves were similar to something a zombie might make, a shuffle on that foot, a shamble with the other. The arms were hanging limply at his sides, their delicate fingers covered in mud.

"Should… should we run?"

Blaster asked more out of surprise at the state of the genius as opposed to any fear.

No matter how freakishly smart Perce was, he was not scary… well, they hadn't really seen the recent version. Perce 1.1.

Spike was nervous, but more from the fact that it didn't' take an Autobot of any size any real effort to do some damage to a human frame if they wanted to. The 'cons had certainly proven that many a time.

Perceptor squished through the mud, it slopped up his legs, lapping at his torso and splattering about, a few blobs landing on the head lights the culture junkie was emitting.

"Yo, Perceptor, what's the haps man?"

He asked.

Perceptor didn't answer.

Something else did.

It answered with a string of malice laughter. It threw its arms up, bent at the elbows, fingers splayed, mouth open, optics wide, facing up, it laughed and laughed and laughed.

The two other mechs joined in nervously, exchanging glances between them as they did it, both inwardly wondering what to do. If their internal communication lines were operating they may have shared a non-verbal word, but they didn't have that luxury, all they had was static.

Once the dean of the most prestigious science university on Cybertron, Perceptor now stood before them, whatever was Perceptor was locked deep inside his form. He grinned, and it was spiteful and it chilled them.

"Perceptor, dude, you're scaring us buddy".

Spike said, trying his darndest to hide the concern.

"There is no Perceptor".

It took a few very large strides until it stopped optic level with Jazz, staring deep into his optics.

"THERE IS ONLY LEGION!"

And with that Perceptor punched his sod covered fists into their only light source.

The darkness was cruel to them. Spike took several quick steps backwards until he bumped into the wall; more for the want to get out of the way of any giant robot's foot then fear, though, fear probably played a part.

Jazz reached out and grabbed Perceptor, hoping to trap him until they could get some light back on. The body he found himself grabbing was cold, too cold to belong to a living mech. Perceptor's dirty hands, with flecks of glass embedded in that muck gripped around Jazz's wrists.

"There is only legion".

It whispered into his face, the foul stench from his breath made its way into his mouth and Jazz coughed violently, letting go of the scientist who brought his hand down hard on the back of the mech's head. The sound of the whack was one Blaster recognised, Primus knew he'd made that same noise plenty of times with Decepticon assistance. He lunged out with his poor quality infrared and slammed Perceptor to the sloppy ground. He rained down a volley of punches knowing he had to stop but if he did he might give this Perceptor, this thing, this… _whatever _a chance to get back on top.

Jazz recovered from his blow quickly and was up to add a few more punches to the scientist's cranial plating, and eventually after another minute Perceptor, legion and all, were in stasis lock.

"What's happening?"

Spike called out into the pitch.

"Don't worry yourself sick, Spike, seriously, its dirty enough and smelly enough down here without you adding your contribution to it!"

Jazz laughed.

"Yeah, we knocked him out cold".

"Oh, that's great Blaster… I think. So, ah, now what?"

"Well, we can't go forward because of that cave in, but maybe we can head back find a way out of the hole".

Jazz replied as he holstered the unconscious geek up onto his shoulder and the three began their trek back.

It was about ten minutes later that Spike fell sideways and instead of hitting the wall he landed in a gap.

"Hey guys, I think I found a diversion".

"How'd we miss that?"

Jazz asked as his infrared sensors picked up what his lights had not.

"Let's go see what we can see".

Blaster chuckled as he scoped up the muddy human and ventured into the new passage.

--

**Author's NB: **I've noticed over the years that Jazz in fan fiction, and especially in the 2007 movie that he's started to talk really "ghetto" like, and I'm not a fan of that. I like that he throws around amusing "jibe" terms but not every second syllable, I'm a fan of G1 so that's who I base my characterisations off – though I keep picturing Magnus and Perceptor in their TFA personas. Cos seriously, Perceptor going nutso with that neat Stephen Hawking voice, you gotta smile at that. GO on, download one of those voice things and give it a whirl.

Anyway… and you could understand Jazz in G1. As for Blaster, I hate rhyming and it reminds me of Wheelie, who I think all know my opinion on. Anyway, he seemed to start the same irritating habit in season three and onwards in the fan fiction and that just creeps me out. So no, he doesn't rhyme in my ramblings. They can still be Jazz and Blaster, just not so douchey.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty One**

**24****th**** December**

**0630hrs**

Rodimus was cowering against the side of a large stack of crates with Decepticon logos stamped on them, which was propped up against a large upturned human crafted device used to carry whatever resources this mine yielded along tracks to the outside world. He was trying to order his thoughts, see how it was he'd come to this circumstance, alone and frightened.

He and Kup had had a general conversation as they had wandered through the underground maze of tunnels, some crafted by humans, others by Decepticons and others a combination of both as one had collapsed into another. During their conversation the topic of ghosts came up, Kup, in his usual rambling way, expressed that age brought with it all sorts of experiences which in his current youthful state, Rodimus could never hope to know. Rodimus pointed out that recent events had transpired in such a way that he did have knowledge.

At that point, just before Kup was about to add a lengthy rebuttal filled with ancient curse words and general slang, Springer came running up to meet them. It was about half past five. He'd told them how the twins had kidnapped him, how he was taken down here and shackled to a wall, and how Perceptor had gone totally nutso and had acted like a mech possessed cause a cave in, dropping all four of them down into the tunnels. On waking Springer found he was no where near the cave in, and the twins and the crazy scientist were gone.

Springer went on to say he wandered around, then found a Decepticon shuttle – he neglected any commentary about the dead within – then Springer expressed how a cackling Perceptor had shown up and he made the decision to try and find Perceptor and assist him to the surface. Well, that was what Springer had recounted.

After story time, they had a discussion about what to do next, Kup was a fan of continuing the search for the scientist and the twins, whereas himself and Springer were fans of returning to the surface and contacting back up. It was no sign of cowardice really, well; he justified it to himself that it wasn't as more could be done for the lost scientist and the twins with extra hands as opposed to three of them – not to mention the other two mechs down here with the human looking as well. AND the mech with no name, well, he had a name, Rodimus just hadn't taken the time to ask for it or learn it, Mr. I don't know his name was standing watch outside.

So yeah, democracy won, and Kup would rant and rave about it till, what was the human saying, till the cows came home, but it wouldn't matter because Rodimus had decided and had put his foot down. Not figuratively of course given how high the sludge might splatter.

How he came to be cowering at this exact moment – well, while they were returning to the surface they heard screams up ahead. They were not Autobot, so that was a plus, and they were not human, also good, what they were, well, that was not very nice. They came into a chamber where the screams directed them, and found the swirling masse of whit mist twisting and turning within the air they floated through, there was a glowing fire in the middle, a fire burning without fuel and they all stopped their screaming and their turning and their twisting and their floating and turned and faced the new comers, the interlopers and they came at them. Their chilled ethereal forms punching through their solid chassis, leaving no physical damage, but imprinting upon their sparks a chill that would accompany them till their dying days.

Kup had lost it first.

He screamed something about how he was sorry, that he didn't' mean to leave them behind, but what else could he do?

And he took off into the darkness, the dim lights he was projecting from his helmet bouncing off into the blackness.

Springer had looked at the new mighty leader of the Autobots and expressed with that title what the slag are they going to do?

Something tore through Springer's head and he went limp, no physical damage, so how was it possible a ghost could touch so violently? Rodimus lent over his friend, swatting with a level of irritation at the wraths, calling to Springer, yelling at Springer, begging Springer, to please, get up! And Springer got up, rather the form that was Springer got up and stood before him with blackened optics alive with their own death. He was speaking something, but Rodimus didn't want to hear what it was, he was able to realise that running the way Kup had, running towards the deeper bowels of this pit was probably not the smartest idea, so he reached inside him and pulled some of that courage he'd been saving for just such an occasion and ran through the centre. Passing through the flame he found it was not warm, it was not even there, as soon as he looked back, expecting to see scattered embers slowing burning out, he saw it was gone. The mist of those creatures still reached into the realm of the living and Springer was now walking towards him, walking with an intention that was much too dark for the young leader to contemplate upon.

Rodimus ran all the way back to the entrance. He made good time too. All the while the sloshing sound of the possessed behind him alerted him to his speed when it slowed.

Outside the early morning rays were fighting with the night's pitch and were apparently winning. It saw Mr. I don't' know his name and felt a level of relief greater then when Arcee told him she _wasn't_ pregnant. His relief was quickly washed away in a flood of anguish and appalled emotion when he saw Mr. I don't know his name was being held up by someone whose name he did know – Magnus. And Ultra Magnus, as he was to his sub-ordinates, and to Optimus and Rodimus, was the one holding that poor bastard by the throat. The life was gone from Mr. I don't know his name and that life was dribbling down his still form and dripping onto the ground, the glistening pool of energon spreading out and sinking into the polluted soil he'd spent so long trying to escape from.

Mr. I don't know his name was then thrown by Ultra Magnus, the flailing of dead limbs, the emptiness of shattered optics, the non existence of thoughts so quickly erased came flying at him. He ducked, but wasn't quick enough. Mr. I don't' know his name smashed into him and the two tumbled back into the caves. Magnus was running at them now, Rodimus hurried to get the dead Mr. I don't know his name off from his form. He had no concern for the respect of the dead or any dignity that might be afforded to such and he clambered out from under, and then over the Mr. I don't know his name. Magnus was nearing him with a speed that was unnatural for such a large Autobot. His optics were black. His mouth curved in an awfully cold sneer, and his entire body structure was tensed with a level of motivation that was more common on the face of Megatron when, what he perceived as a bloody good idea gnawed away at his CPU. Rodimus wasn't going to face Magnus, he wasn't going to see if he could "talk him out of it", and he was sure "it" wasn't going to be pleasant, especially if "it" looked like what the not so stable City Commander had dolled out on the Mr. I don't know his name.

So, with all the words spoken and thought, with all the descriptive given and expressed, after everything that had to be written was written, Rodimus ran.

And Magnus, though he wasn't really Magnus, followed.

Eventually, and Rodimus wasn't sure when or how or where that eventually had taken place, he'd found himself alone. Alone in another part of the mine. Another part of the mine that was at the bottom of a hole, down a tunnel, to the left of a tunnel, through another hole that was quite deep that he had created after he tripped and caught a piece of metal which just so happened to be a piece of metal that was holding a load bearing wooden plank, which collapsed and took Rodimus deeper into the midst of fear. Rodimus had gotten himself up, he'd run some more, down a tunnel, into a chamber, across the camber, he lost balance, fell and roll down a declining tunnel, pulled himself up, left, tunnel, right, right, chamber, chamber, fall… and then he lost his concept of navigation and at some point, he found himself where he was now.

Cowering.

Pulling in air and forcing it out again with the mechanical intention of cooling down his systems.

His radios barked at him nothing but static.

His navigation systems were offline.

His lighting wasn't working.

He couldn't access his infrared.

He was alone.

It was dark.

And he'd never been so scared in his life.

If he was human he would of messed his pants so bad his great great great grandchildren would be born covered in faeces.

He found himself nibbling on the tip of his thumb.

His left arm wrapped around him, his right tucked up under his chin.

His legs pulled up.

His back to the entrance, the entrance Magnus would come through if he found him.

It was still around him.

It was quiet.

There was no sound externally.

His breathing had slowed now and stopped, no longer required by over heated systems.

He couldn't find comfort.

He didn't know if he had any.

He tried to think of Arcee, that didn't work; all he felt was guilt that she belonged to someone else now.

He tried to think of his friends, but that didn't work either, as all his old friends had basically abandoned him after his "promotion", and those who didn't he just didn't have time for. He did have people who weren't really his friends hang around with him, stroking his ego, offering opinions that were just reinforcing his own. People who were friends with power, not with Rodimus Prime.

He tried to think of his creator, that didn't work, his creator was a bastard.

He tried to think of all the good times he'd had with Daniel, that didn't work as Daniel wasn't his and he felt almost bad for thinking of someone else's son to calm his own nerves.

He really got the short end of the stick on this Matrix thing.

His body started to relax.

Who would miss him if he died down here?

Would they come down here for the Matrix?

He might be studied vorns from now, after the war ended maybe, by children in history classes, his name listed under titles such as "shortest rule ever" and "dumbest leader ever" and "the biggest Autobot pansy".

It was kind of pathetic really. Rodimus didn't want that, he didn't want to be remembered as pathetic or sad or just a "temp" until the real leader could step forward. He found himself standing and he found himself walking across the chamber to an alternative exit, he had some night vision, but it was poor quality and he found himself relying on which way the stink was blowing and how the earth slopped and what his fingers caressed on the walls.

Rodimus came to the tunnel's alternative exit and bumped his head on something. His hands reached for it and felt it. A lamp. He tried to remember how these things worked. He ground his finger tips until a spark flicked out and lit the still flammable cloth that sat within the chamber. It offered a small glow, but it was better then his "night vision" and much better then nothing. He found a few old rags that he subspaced to use as extra fuel – if worse came to worse he could always just rip a few clumps of upholstery from his seats.

--

All roads lead to Rome.

He didn't understand what that human saying meant. He didn't understand why they'd reference a city known for a particular ancient empire and a particular religion in a somewhat modern and secular human society. But humans were funny creatures with funny terms and a funny language. Especially the one they called "English", how in the hell could a word pronounced "here" have so many spellings and so many meanings? And was it you could grabbed a hook and rammed it through a dead animal it was "I hung the meat" but if you were an executioner it was "I hanged the criminal". Or Sheep having no plural, it was a group of sheep I saw a sheep I had twenty sheep. He'd heard it'd caused Prowl's logic circuits an overload a few times, especially when Spike told him about some "I before E except after C" so explain ancient??

But that's what Kup had said to him when he found himself in the large chamber, part of it occupied by the old Decepticon shuttle Springer had half told them about.

"Why are we standing around out here?"

"I ain't going back in there".

Springer replied to Rodimus' question.

"Why the slag not?"

"Its filled with the dead, lad".

"And not just any dead, Decepticon dead".

Springer added.

"That's quite a point to miss out of your previous story, Spring".

"Yeah, well, you're welcome to go educate yourself".

Springer bit back.

"Magnus is here".

He changed the subject.

"What? Are you sure, lad?"

"Yip, he tore Mr. I don't know his name's throat out, the guy I put out on watch".

Kup looked down sadly and then perked up when he saw two mechs enter the chamber.

Rodimus still wound a little too tightly spun around and pulled his rifle on the new comers.

"Wooooh nelly! Subspace that rifle man, I ain't in no mood to get this face scuffed".

Jazz.

"Perceptor!"

Springer gasped as he looked at the still unconscious mech.

"Yeah, these two put him down after he came at us screaming and what not".

Spike chirped.

"Well, now what?"

"Its just the twins now".

There was a silence amongst them for a moment, as if expecting the brothers to suddenly show up and complete the party. They didn't arrive.

Spike relayed their experience and it was chilling and concerning and was more pieces to a puzzle Rodimus didn't want to see the final image of.

"Wow, check that out!"

Spike began walking to the Decepticon ship.

"What is that thing?"

He stopped and ran his fingers over the large indented insignia.

"A Decepticon vessel?"

He answered his own question with a question.

"Stay away from it, Spike, its more of a tomb then a vessel".

Springer cringed.

"There's bodies inside?"

"Yeah, and quite a few and all in a less then satisfactory standard".

Springer added.

"Looks pretty old… well, I mean older then the style of the Nemesis".

"It is, lad, it is".

Kup responded.

"You've seen it before?"

"Aye".

"Who, what, where, when, why, how?"

Rodimus asked, some of his cheeky humour sneaking back into his conversation.

"It's a ship I never thought I'd see again. A ship I wanted to never see again. Its called the Empty".

"It certainly wasn't empty when I went in there".

"True, lad. It carried something I hoped would be completely destroyed by now, something that might explain a few of the recent happenings".

"That ship is responsible for all this slag?"

Rodimus barked.

"Perhaps".

"Well, for Primus' sake, Kup, start talking!!"

Springer grabbed the old mech and shook him slightly. Kup sighed and told them.

He told them what it carried.

What it was.

What it meant.

And how, chances were, it was the cause of all this.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty Two**

**24****th**** December**

**0747hrs**

Talk to any organic twin or triplet or other sibling member of a multiple birth and you will probably be told about the unique "bond" they share. Some will go as far as to say they know when the other/s is in pain or upset. Most, however will just tell you they greatly miss their other/s when they are separate, even if only for a few hours. Such bonds are reported to be found more commonly, and with more strength in those of an identical nature. Also, generally rare within the natural setting, it is now more likely to befall parents who indulge in the practice of IVF.

Within the setting of the mechanical form of life, particularly Transformers, twins and triplets are not so much bonded organically, but along a much stronger connection found within the spark, to use a "human" word, "soul". Somehow, and Autobot and Decepticon scientists alike, have still been unable to give it a proper explanation, the closet so far is that at the moment of "conception" the spark fractures into two or three or more pieces of identical size.

Within the realms of organic reproduction the genetic material, the egg and sperm which have combined, split sometime after, twins of a conjoined nature have been found that the split takes place later in the process of travelling down the fallopian tube. The resulting siblings are genetically identical, but tend to be different in personality, adding further weight to the nurture verses nature argument. With that said it is a further conundrum when those siblings are given the exact same upbringing.

Of course, it then leads into experience and how one views that experience. An event can transpire, and whereas the physical process in which genetically identical eyes view the event, the point of view and opinion of the event will be different to each of those individuals. The growth of those multiples in the womb progress along the same biological programming. The conception spawns an identical number of zygotes, the cells of which journey together combined in their tiny enclosure along one of the fallopian tubes of their mother until they find a place within her womb to nestle and grow. At 18 days their hearts start beating. Perhaps in unison within their shared placenta. At four weeks their tiny brains give off waves that can be measured, and at 8 weeks, their tiny forms are fully formed, and without interference, whether natural or unnatural, willed or unwilled, evil or benign, their lives will continue along a process of growth. And long before the quickening has taken place, when their mother notices her protruding belly or the tiny flutters of life buried within, their delicate limbs will kick and flail and connect with their sibling. A bond deeper then any other sibling will ever share with another sibling.

And they will enter into this world with the knowledge that they have walked every milestone together before that entrance. Upon their expression into the world viewed they could either go their separate ways, or begin to see the world around them through those identical eyes but with a different view. They will express their love for each other through that bond they have built or perhaps perceived and such a bond will give them a strength and an understanding of the other and a feel when the other is near or harmed, if only due to the power of their minds giving them that sensation.

But with a Transformer...

Conception and journey of course. But the manner of the journey is very different to a life that is based in the flesh and blood.

Within the womb of a Transformer there is an ability to mature a spark.

That spark draws energy and programming from its maternal host.

That spark doesn't develop with a physical form; it doesn't sprout buds which develop into limbs which give way to tapering fingers and toes. It doesn't craft a delicate stomach filled with acidic juices that churn away in the 8 week old belly of a human foetus, there is no length of intestine or tiny fluid filled lungs, instead, it's just a glowing orb of light. A spark.

And that spark will takes it programming and its energy from its maternal host.

And that spark will remain in that womb until a series of things happen.

If the maternal host discovers that she is "pregnant" and gives no desire for her womb to be used against her will, though such will is negated by the very action which gave rise to the spark in the first place, she will find a way to remove it. Either by an action she herself gives rise to, or she seeks out, the spark will be extinguished. And it is an easy enough process. One that can be practiced as easily as uttered in the privacy of one's own berth. The maternal host is at no risk of "retained foetal products" or "infection" or "perforation resulting in blood lost", oh no, for the maternal host that answers to the term "Transformer" is not as vulnerable as an organic mother who's life is taken into her hands the moment she decides she holds supremacy over an entirely separate and unique life within. The maternal host who answers to the term Transformer will thusly destroy the spark within and that spark's precious and new and individual and separate signature will be taken up by her body and processed into a burst of energy lasting all of point zero zero zero zero zero zero zero three seconds. So small as to not even matter.

And thusly, a spark who could have had a long life of millions of vorns will be destroyed by a maternal host who's life cycle function were never at risk.

The next fate the spark could fathom is continued housing.

Most femmes would find themselves in a situation where termination of spark is such a repugnant thought to them that the entertaining of such thought is never even allowed by their CPU. The spark within will never grow beyond the size intended and will never stretch metal skin or push apart abdominal plating, instead, it will sit within taking a tiny amount of energy for its own use and rest peacefully waiting until a day it can be extracted without fatal intention or willed destruction.

Most femmes would carry these sparks without ever uttering that life is within them. They would carry them into battles, into other worlds and even into a berth with a mech, whether or not he is the father is not the issue.

Or the third option, where that spark would be mature enough to be taken free and living and placed within the body crafted especially for it.

The ability of Transformers to pass on life comes in numerous ways:

The All Spark or Matrix can pass life onto an inanimate object crafted for any other intention then the Matrix desires. A human's car or blender for example can find itself alive and with awareness of self by just a simple desire of the Matrix barer or a knock against such a life giving orb.

Victor Sigma, the computer which gave us all life, is an expression used by many of his children. A shell is built and presented, and Victor in all his programming determines, with the assistance and more so really desires of the presenter, what programming it must have. Victor Sigma does not craft good or evil because he wants to, there is no intention here to balance the cosmos or due to some sick need to craft an evil being intent on evil things.

Victor Sigma just does as he is told when it comes to the direction of the spark that finds itself crafted. With this mentioned, the rest of the personality is up to the computer itself. Victor Sigma will fill a shell with hate for the Autobots and all the Autobots stand for, or he will give personality worthy of he who created me, but that's as much guidance as he will take. It is not up to he who crafted the shell to decide if that new spark will like blue over red or will prefer the taste of oil over energon crafted from wind power, Victor Sigma will even determine, whether or not the presenter desires it, what sexual preference that new spark will have.

And of course, what is noted as "pregnancy". The spark grows, and then is transferred into a shell crafted.

There are no "baby" shells, no "toddler" shells, there is no ability for metal to mimic flesh and grow. The shell is war ready, which is one of the many reasons a femme chooses to hold onto that spark within, so that it is not quickly destroyed. All the while her programming and memories are passing over into the spark deep within. Not identical of course, it will not spawn a spark identical to the maternal host; the paternal host does have some contribution. For the mech involved, it is his programming and memory up to that point will carry itself along in the fluid he has released, until it meets the femme's contribution and together they merge to craft a life that will be different and unique.

And when the optics of that shell opens, the spark from the maternal host now buried deep within, protected and granted the continuance of life, it will see the world through optics of its very own, processing what it sees with a CPU of its very own and act and interact with the world it sees with its own take on those events.

Which returns us to the point of Transformer multiples.

All of those things, all of those quirky, differentiating, unique little things that interfere with the development, placing upon those sparks its own craftiness, that that precious life, regardless of what mark will be placed upon its chest, all of those things make that life an individual, separate to its sibling/s.

However, whereas those things are so simple things are almost similar to the organic process of multiples; it is the bond they share that cannot be matched in flesh and blood.

The minds of human organics, no matter how strongly willed or wished for, or even imagined, can never be joined in such an intimate way that they are combined, where thoughts are shared and the mind, perhaps soul, is one.

But with the point of Transformer multiples, the spark is one, the soul is one, the mind, while different, are essentially one. One cannot survive without the other. Two halves, multiple parts of the one whole.

The connection between the two is where science and metallic technology and parts play their role. A communication line between them is one so special and complicated that the scientists from both factions cannot understand it. It is one where thoughts are not expressed with words or images, but with a sort of feeling, a sensation that cannot be ever given word enough to describe it.

So, this brings us to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Not physically identical, but even organic multiples did not share complete appearance to each other, a simple freckle or scar could divide them, and again, give rise to the purpose of differing views of the same event. But to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, the physical difference was not a matter to either, it was the spark that they shared that gave them those desires, that irritating desire to never be separated, despite the stronger and more authoritarian desire of their superior officers, and it was that connection that served their superior officers well upon the field of battle. It gave them the ability to instinctively know that the other was in trouble, that the other needed helped to bring down an enemy to even locate the other down to the most exact mili-metre.

The fear of all multiples, regardless of the type of material that covered their frames, was the death of the other. It was an unspoken fear, but need not be spoken due to those bonds. Those instinctive understandings of the other's mindsets. That the death would cause a serving of the bond, that the feeling of being only half complete would be their lifelong reminder of the death. Organic twins who lost their half at birth or in utero would often report the feeling that they were not "complete" that they felt "empty" and as if "something was missing", even in those who were unaware of their short lived twinship. An interesting titbit, that in the realms of human science, it was believed that left handed individuals could be a surviving twin.

Sunstreaker was sitting there in the soft mud of the tunnel.

His heart, it could be said, was breaking.

To him, there was no link with Sideswipe.

That meant that something had broken that connection.

He tried to fight the logic that it was death.

Tears dribbled from his optics, streaking his face.

In the darkness, this pathetically sad and oh so tragic sight could not be viewed.

Somewhere within the same mine sat his brother, Sideswipe, the same horror deep in his spark, the same connection gone to him, the same thought of an offlining niggling at him.

There was no way at that point that either of them knew the fate of the other.

Sideswipe, a little "chirpier" then his brother, found strength to get up, pulling himself from the cold sludge and demanding his limbs to move with the purpose of search, to know for sure, the fate of his brother.

**Author's NB: **I felt the need to explain how I think femmes get "pregnant". Basically, I don't view the situation as her getting bigger and a foetus developing, rather a spark that has been created "conceived" is you will, and now sits dormant waiting for its chance to be implanted/transferred into an empty shell crafted for the purpose of this individual. I don't think sparks have genders, I think once the spark is in the form it takes the identity of that form's structure – ie. Femme or mech.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty Three**

**24****th**** December**

**0835hrs**

The winter morning was bleak and not at all welcoming. It was the sort of morning where creatures bound in flesh would seek the warmth of indoor shelter. The morning rays had long since found the shattered remains of the mech who's name Rodimus did not know. Deep within the mine wandered various evils holding firm to the metallic structures they had possessed.

Spike was trying to imagine the warmth of his in-law's fire place, the salty taste of his wife's gravy – it was always _too _salty, the smile of excitement that would spread over his son's face and the cheeky curiosity that led him to ask every possible question about Santa. He tried to imagine the brightly decorated tree, the quaint little crib out of the view of most visitors – heaven forbid someone think they're Christian, the pepperminty aftertaste left in the mouth after gorging on one to many candy canes.

But as much as he tried to pull the images from his memory, and the images he tried to imagine were going on now, he wasn't quite able to feel comfortable or at ease in his current predicament. Carly was going to be pissed.

Rodimus found himself wandering along the edge of the Empty. That rather small shuttle, cold and hostile to any visitor that would question its contents. Occasionally his fingers would run themselves along the slowly degrading hull, but such an action tended to send a chill down the Autobot commander's linkage.

Jazz and Blaster were having a hushed conversation, and it was a very subdued conversation about the Simpsons' Christmas editions and which was their favourites. Blaster was of the mind that the one where Bart stole a game and was forced to return to the store for a family photo was the best, a coming of age and maturity sort of thing and at the same time highly amusing. Jazz argued the one where Bart burnt the tree down and all the presents and then inadvertently ended up conning the whole town was a better moral lesson as in the end they enjoyed their family just being together as opposed to piles of rubbish wrapped in shiny boxes.

The majority of Autobots were quite perplexed by the human need to gather up wealth and possessions to themselves.

Springer sat atop the still unconscious Perceptor, chuckling occasionally to himself as he carved in a manner of really bad math into the scientist's back. Perceptor, when back in his right mind wasn't going to like 1+2=5 or 2 isn't a prime number scratched into his backplates.

Occasionally a scream or howl would be carried to them.

Rodimus had come to the decision that they should cause a cave in around the entrances to the cave they sat in, if only to protect themselves from whatever insanity lay about in the caves, the insanity Kup had told them existed and had reached out from that shuttle. He was of the hope that since a few of the Autobots back at the city knew where they were headed, that eventually they'd come looking for them.

Kup was unusually quiet. Alone with thoughts of a time he didn't wish to remember. Thoughts his companions would not want to know. Thoughts that revolved around the mess that sat in that shuttle. He had told them only the most minor of details. Of course, Kup could never know how the evil had been unleashed from that shuttle, he only knew what his role in it was, and that the shuttle had left Cybertron carrying that diseased cargo and that at some point, in the pursuit, it had been lost.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty Four**

**13,048 BC**

**Sun one quarter way across the sky**

The planet had its own ideas when the large earth quake ripped asunder the large tectonic plates and birthed from its depths the alien craft it had hidden for over 20 million years. It also caused fear to rush through the hearts of the small tribe of ancient humans that knelt worshipping their bright sky travelling deity.

It was one of their hunters, a youth of just 12, trying to prove his worthiness to be known as a man and to take a wife who found it. The dull, dirt covered metal protruding from the cold earth. He approached it with a bravery that would be seldom found by his peers many centuries from this present. He walked cautiously around the structure, was it a vehicle from the gods? He didn't know, and he knew better then to test the mighty beings that oversaw him. He reached out and touched the ship. It felt cold, gritty and damp, not at all like something the deities would ride within. Perhaps it was from those who reigned over the world of the rotten. The youth found a panel that was flashing; of course, he did not have knowledge of what either of those things were. All he knew was that it was a powerful sorcery indeed. He pressed the end of his spear on the flashing and the ship opened to him.

A gust of foul smelling wind rushed out to meet him. The chill and odour knocked him backwards and he fell onto the ground. He found the strength of character to pull herself back up and towards the opening. Light came from within, he wanted to see the gods. To ask them why it was so cold, why the flocks of animals they hunted were fleeing and would they assist a lowly boy to become a man. Such requests were probably disrespectful but surely the mighty all knowing beings would be aware of his piety.

Through the animal furs that formed his shoes, he was able to feel the cold of the metal he stood upon. The vessel was similar to a cave, the temperature was low and the majority of it was dark. There was movement to his left, and he spun quickly to see not a god, but a snake dangling from the ceiling… but it was no snake… it was… he wasn't sure what it was… but its innards told him it was not alive. He reached out cautiously with his spear and poked it. There was no hissing, no veering upwards, no fangs dripping with death; it was just a limp green snake that had silver and gold threads protruding out what was a simple rip across its back.

Two large thrones sat facing a large pane of magic. A large table covered with dots of colour and sticks that rose from it. All of it was crafted with that silver metal. Of course, his age and the lack of technology of his tribe meant he could never, ever grasp what these things were.

A howl came from behind. He stopped mid climb and spun to see what it was.

It was no wolf.

No bear.

No lion.

No animal his tribe hunted.

Had ever hunted.

It sounded remotely like the noises their tribe's wisest elder would make as he relayed the horrors of what lay in the land of the rotten.

This place was no vessel for the gods that loved them, that cared for them.

This was a place no youth should be.

That no living mortal should be.

He decided to leave. To tell his elders, his chief, to relay to them the horror that sat within this place.

He would be a man, yes, but killing a wolf or finding a herd of mammoth, that was a task that would give you manhood. Spending time in a vessel from the land of the rotten was not!

The youth exited the vessel but gave it one last glance, and wished he hadn't.

Standing in the doorway, long tapering claws clasping the edges of the metal, eyes glowing with a red seen only in the pits of a fire or the removed bowels of a dead beast. Its mouth opened, and a roar passed over its jagged teeth, a thick translucent fluid with a twinge of green dribbled down over his chin.

He roared again.

And then lunged forward, the youth frozen in fear at first, but managed, if only by reflex to hold up his spear, but the loosely attached pointed stone broke away easily as it came into contact with the metal body of that creature from the land of the rotten.

The youth screamed, and that scream fell upon only the ears of trees, birds and the occasional bear.

--

Laying in a trance, sitting in his tent, the skull of his greatest enemy filled with blood of a wolf cub, a few small embers burning on a wet leave. The fragrant aromas of the herbs and grasses he had placed upon those embers wrapped themselves around him, sending him deeper into the mind of the gods.

His eyes opened and only the sclera were obvious. His body stood high without intention or need of his arms, his body, controlled by a higher force, drove him out into the centre of their small encampment. He stood at the small fire. The members of his tribe who were not on the hunt came out to watch him. Watch him throw his arms up and taken by what would be classed as insanity in modern times, he began to dance and chant a language that would soon be lost to history.

Something evil had been woken.

And that evil was near.

--

The chief arrived back when the Sun was preparing itself for its bed deep within the earth; with him was his group of hunters, of men, the father and four older brothers of the youth in attendance.

They found the tribe's witch doctor still in his trance, still dancing, still chanting, about the fire that burned brightly.

The hunters lay the huge beast they had culled and the women began their work of butchering and preparing for the feast they would enjoy that night.

"He has been in that way for many sun steps".

An elderly woman approached the chief, she was the witch doctor's primary wife, the fine furs and the exquisite beads she wore expressed that.

"Witch doctor! I command of you! Tell me what entrances you!"

The chief held up his heavy axe of stone and mammoth bone.

"I see…"

The witch doctor added into his chant.

"I see…"

He said again, his voice slightly louder, but still belonging to the strange words he uttered without cause.

"EVIL!"

He stopped suddenly.

Flew his hands up.

Fingers splayed.

"AND IT COMES FOR US ALL!"

He leapt up and landed bare foot in that roaring fire.

"I want no evil! I want no evil! I want to be in the land of the rotten when the evil arrives!"

He roared about as the flames licked up his legs, his dry furs engulfed and erupted up his body with a large amount of fire.

None of the tribe's people stopped him.

This was usual for witch doctors.

This was honour.

The flames did not appear to harm him as they curdled his skin.

His eyes still white.

Still staring.

Arms still flailing.

Still screaming words that today are gone from record.

"EVIL! IT COMES! BE AWARE OF IT FOR IT COMES!"

And then there was a sudden burst of flame and the man was pulled down into the land of the rotten, leaving his body to become dust within the intense heat.

The wife stood there and yelled to the tribe.

"My husband! He hath gone to the land of the rotten! I would be no wife of honour indeed if I did not go to his side, to care for him on that plane and to protect him from the whore demands!"

She leapt into join the flames as they tore through the deeply hidden organs of her husband.

She screamed, however.

She was not lucky to be deep in trance, but she held firm to her honour, to her pact. And she joined her husband in the land of the rotten. She would not know the evil he spoke of before he left his world.

The tribe's people began the chant of funeral.

They lamented, but in a way were grateful as the deaths of their sages were payment to the gods for the knowledge they had released.

The chief was quiet as his people continued in their grief and in their preparation of the feast of their daily hunt. What concerned him, however, was this evil that was spoken of before they expired. What was this evil? When would it come? His sage had never been wrong, he probably wouldn't start now.

"Chief, my son, your nephew, has not yet returned from his scout. I desire him to be a man, yes, but forgive me if I ask leave to seek for him, to ensure my son has achieved his manhood".

"Brother, you must put aside the concerns of a father's heart and allow the heart of a warrior to prevail, you uttered such worries when your other sons ventured to manhood, and they came back as men! Do not belittle the honour your son has sought by concerning yourself with his journey before it has ended".

"Yes, but my youngest boy carries a soul that is delicate, perhaps not long for manhood".

"Then he will not make it there".

"But brother, remember not your position as children we were, it was you who was of similar heart to my youngest, and yet you rose past that to the title of chief".

"Indeed I did, but you must recall also, brother, that I overcame such a weak disposition and your son will do the same! He could very well rise above my own sons and claim the birthright afforded to our blood!"

"Your words give me hope; forgive me for the doubt that entered me! You are correct and I see that you are well deserving of our chieftain title! I will return to my wife and take her company!"

"Ahah! Indeed brother, a worthy pass time. I will partake of the warm meat of victory then see to my wives".

A shrill voice of a teenaged girl cried out a word that was akin to a god's name taken in vain.

The two men turned to see what the commotion had began.

Within the flames stood two skeletons each moving in ways unnatural, of course, being it was unnatural for a skeleton to dance within flames tainted by death.

"WARNING! WARNING! WE GIVE WARNING!"

The first one screamed, it was slightly larger, most likely the frail bones of their witch doctor.

"SLEEP WILL GIVE YOU ENTRANCE TO THE LAND OF THE ROTTEN!"

The second sung out.

"Oh how it will be a day of lamentations when the evil arrives, throwing babes into the land of the rotten!"

The male called out.

"End your placement here and flee! Flee! And you will flee the land of the rotten!"

"It is no coward that flees the land of the rotten".

"FLEE THE LAND OF THE ROTTEN! FLEE THE EVIL!"

Their bones crumbled and their words were ended.

"Such an omen cannot be ignored!"

The chief's brother cried.

"No, it cannot! Bring fourth what we need to appease the gods! Bring fourth the knowledge that has been passed and we shall turn our backs to the land of the rotten".

The chief added.

A young woman heavy with child stepped forward.

"I will step into the place of appeasement! I will beg the gods with my final breath to hold back the tide of evil that we have been warned of! With two lives we will win all lives!"

The woman stood there holding her arms above her.

The tribe gathered around her, singing and chanting that her offering was welcomed and thanked.

A young man approached the fire, he was the son of the witch doctor and his primary wife, now an orphan, but now a carrier of all the knowledge that they had passed to him.

There was no point explaining the full ceremony for its simplicity was found in its progression. The woman presented herself. The new witch doctor took his destiny. He plunged the finely crafted bone knife into her breast and spilt her life's blood to the ground about them. The rest was less then pleasant, but she had accepted her fate and offered herself willingly to it.

The moon was in the sky, its bleak features staring down over the proceedings and then there was the howl.

The woman's body with her infant child free of the womb lay upon the dirt, their blood spilling outwards and touching the feet of her community. The chief, his brother and all turned their eyes towards the howl in the darkness.

But such fragile eyes were not designed to see well in such pitch.

Light from the fire was not suitable enough to give illumination significant that they would see what approached.

All the hunters, all those wise in the ways of nature and its predators realised that what made that noise was no animal ripe for the hunt. It was something… something wrong.

The dead infant on the ground opened its eyes and squeaked "it comes", his mother, devoid of blood, her skin blue, her eyes locked in an eternal stare uttered the phrase "flee from the land of the rotten" and then whatever had dealt in them, whatever had given the warning, left.

Left to flee from the evil that approached.

Nothing came. There was no sudden attack, no rush of evil, nothing.

So, the tribe's people went to their feast and partook. And the body of the mother and her infant were burnt in the same fire that had taken their sage. And when the bellies were filled and the meat placed ready for preservation and the spears cleaned, the people returned to their tents to sleep.

--

The moon was nearing its final phase across the night sky, aiming down towards the earth where it would find its day's sleep.

The man, the father, stood from his bed where his naked wife lay sleeping. His other sons, men now, slept in their own tents with their own wives and their own children. He was the father of many, five sons and seven daughters; five of those girls were now women and were now married away to hunters of good standing. His two youngest girls were 5 and 8 and slept snugly in the back part of the tent. The man left the tent, with intention of voiding his bladder, though those words would mean little, if nothing, to him.

Standing outside the cool breeze of the early morning brushed over his upper body hair, his adornments made by the loving hands of his wife rattled slightly, his pants, crafted with the fur of his first kill were snug against his legs. Something wasn't right. There was a stillness to all of this, even with the breeze, that seemed… wrong.

He did what he needed to, then returned to the tent.

"Wife, I must go. I have something I must attend my attention towards".

The woman rolled, her naked breasts catching the dim moon light, a pleasant sight he realised, and if it was the last time he saw his wife he was glad it was in this manner. She murmured her understanding and drifted back into the rest she was enjoying. His children remained undisturbed.

He took his spear and began his trek towards where he was sure his son would traverse on his journey to manhood.

His son returned twenty minutes after the father had left.

He stood over looking the small community that he'd known as home.

Another youth who had stood watch noticed him there; the moon sitting in the lowest portion of the sky highlighted the dark, naked form of this boy.

"Friend! I had concerns for you! I had wonders as to your success! Tell me, friend, have you returned a man, or can I look forward to more games of childhood?"

The youth of 10 had come up the ledge his friend stood on.

"Friend? Do you acknowledge me, friend?"

He stood within reach of him.

"Friend? What is wrong?"

The youth of 10 reached out and laid his hands upon the 12 year old's shoulders. They were cold, a chill that wasn't natural, even for a naked boy to be standing out in such conditions.

"My friend? You seem incorrect in your manner of approach and temperament, what has beset you with such emotional distance?"

It was then a series of clouds passed from in front of a cluster of stars, giving light to the youth's face. The eyes of green that had once shone with life, with a desire to seek and please, and a strong will to make proud his father and his tribe by attaining manhood – they were now empty. Not just empty in the metaphorical sense, the sense where one spoke of a glimmer within those orbs of flesh, but the sockets were empty. There were no eyes in that boy's head. Just empty, bloody sockets of bone.

The ten year old uttered a half scream, staggered back and fell over a rock, falling backwards into a roll until he came to a stop at the bottom. He rolled on to his knees and screamed out to whoever would be awake to hear. He screamed with the intention of alert. He screamed like a child screaming for his mother when a bee had stung them, or a nightmare had woken them. And his screams woke the members of the tribe.

In his tent, the inexperienced sage woke, and he woke with the horror that something was now here, now within their camp that had nothing but malice desire.

"It has arrived! The evil has arrived!"

He grabbed his staff, the staff that was adorned with feathers and bones and gems that had passed through the blood line he was a member of. The staff that was believed by their family and their tribe to contain all the wisdom and magic of their ancestors. It had the power to push away evil. And he hoped it would do so now.

Other warriors had grabbed their spears and weapons and rushed from their marriage beds to confront whatever had erred against their terrain.

Instead, they would find the screaming child, yelling about the eyeless form of his friend standing upon the ledge. The eyeless youth continued to stand on the ledge.

The chief waved down his warriors and then began to approach the child, but the new sage came fourth.

"Stop, oh great chief! This is the evil that has come against us! You must not approach for to approach such evil will be to enter into the land of the rotten!"

"Oh hush yourself, you silly boy! You may carry the staff of your father, our wise doctor of sorcery, and you may don your naked body in his garments of finery and wisdom but you do not have the knowledge or understanding of the purpose you now find yourself with. Now hush and step away!"

The sage uttered a sob and with rejection seeping into his heart, he fled back to his tent to wake his wife and children with intention of having them flee this place. This place which would soon be a dark place.

Chief stood before the youth, eyeless.

"Speak, youth, are you returning as a man, or have you remained but a child?"

He hadn't noticed the lack of eyes.

The youth instead chose to speak with a tongue the chief had never heard. A tongue very few organics would hear and live to speak of it.

"Youth, I know not what words you use! Speak to me with respect! Speak to me in our native words".

The youth regarded him for a moment before stepping close enough that even in the dim light of near morning the chief could see the eyes were gone. The child opened his mouth and the stench of death embraced the aged warrior.

"I. Am. Death".

And with that, the chief found his heart on the end of the child's hand.

His intestines, filled still with last night's bounty were then spilled on the ground. The chief lived long enough to see this. He didn't live long enough to see what the youth would do to the community below.

In a way, it was tragic.

They had no chance of defending themselves against something that was not human.

That was not organic.

It resided within the body of an organic, but held a power that was not meant for hands of flesh.

It tore through the warriors that came against him.

It brushed aside the spears that were thrown at him.

It crushed the axes that were yielded.

It flicked over tents and gorged itself on the bodies of cowering women and their still sleeping children.

It spilt the blood of all it came across.

The new sage had succeeded in saving his wife and children. They stood on the ledge opposite where the child had come down, and they watched as everything they knew was laid waste before them. They watched as this evil, which he had felt but could not name, decimated the history they had crafted.

And he turned, with his wife sobbing, their children confused, and they left.

Somewhere out there, was the father of this youth, of course, the sage didn't know this, and he would eventually run into this man. This father. And he would inform him that no, his son had not become a man. He had become something else.

Something worse.

Flee from the land of the rotten.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty Five**

**10,028BC**

**Sun rise**

He had not wanted to believe his son was responsible for what laid before him.

What he had laid eyes upon were not the actions of a soft hearted boy trying to find manhood.

Those were the actions of something else, something evil.

The sage had gathered his wife and children and had fled before his son had laid waste to their tiny society.

Many winters had past.

He could not count them, he had lost count, but it had been a long time. He was reaching the end of his life, a life that had not found another wife or bore any more children.

The sage's children, both girls, had been intended to be replacement sages in the blood line – gender was no issue for that position. There were gods who were of one gender or the other, or of none or of both and they all had great power. It was not of man to decide a woman could not act as an avatar for those great powers.

Instead of being sages for the next ruling generation of their tribe, those two girls had been trained to be hunters, to seek this monster that lived within that boy, no… he wasn't a boy any more, not physically at least. They had been trained by the boy's father to be hunters, to seek that creature, to destroy that seeker, and their father had taught them the rituals and spells they would need against such a thing. Their mother had lamented and had begged that such a fate not befall them, and she even promised to bear a male, but no child crossed her womb again – they all decided the blame for that lay at the feet of the creature, of the evil.

So it was at sun rise, on this day, many years since, that the father died. He walked over into the land of the rotten and much to his annoyance, was unable to take his youngest son with him. It would lay within the hands of others now to do that unpleasant task.

He was an old man, comparatively, having reached 53 years; of course, he didn't know that's what his years equalled to. But death doesn't care about age, nor gender, race or wealth, and so it took him by the hand that cool morning, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon, death took him by the hand. Took him by the hand and led him into the land of the rotten.

Perhaps if he hadn't eaten that odd smelling meat, the rush of fluids wouldn't have been so cruel to him.

Perhaps if he had been able to eat those herbs and plant roots that the young sage girl had told him would cure him.

Perhaps if he had tried to fight to stay away, to look death in the eye and say no. But he could not.

And so, father, man, slipped from this world into the next, leaving behind those two sage girls and their ailing father. The woman who counted herself as their mother had lost her battle against the shadow many years prior; all it took in the days before antibiotics was a rather small piece of twig which scratched infection deep into her flesh.

Father's body was placed into the large funeral pyre and left to burn away as the two would return to the cave where their own father lay reaching gingerly into the next life.

A discussion took place between them as they wandered:

"Sister, I believe the prudence would be given to our separation once father has joined the man".

"I give assumption, sister, that you are desiring that such a separation would give us a better option of finding the youth".

"Indeed. I was given dream last night, sister, before the man died. In it a form came to me, a form unknown to my eyes, but of a man, that form was".

"Speak to me more of this man, sister, for I too have been given dream of a man unknown to my self".

"This dream was placed many many winters from us, and it in, this man came to me, as a man does".

"What filth do you speak of? A secret man with unknown blood, sneaks into your dreams as only a groom would? Haha! You are indeed a feisty woman, sister!"

"Haha! Hush! Sister, it was not intended by the gods and spirits that such a dream bring me any pleasure the way a woman begs her husband for it. Instead, this man came into my bed and sitting upon the many fine furs spoke these words to me, and spoke such words with a tongue and accent I could not deem relevant to our culture, but in this night time vision, I was given the ability to translate, to decipher".

"Yes, sister, tell me what was spoken in a foreign tongue".

"He stated that the evil had come again. And he asked me for guidance to destroy it! But I told him we had not yet caused a cessation of such activity! He implored that I give knowledge of its destruction! But I continued to press that we had not yet given death upon the creature! I told him in many words with many faces of my own stress that if he were too come to me in the future then perhaps I would have been successful at our task".

"Did he leave you at that point, dear sister?"

"No! He showed me weapons and tools and sorcery like none I'd ever seen!"

"Sorcery?"

"Yes, sister! He had found a way to capture the light of the sun in a small chamber crafted with invisible walls!"

"Such magic is indeed beyond our skill, perhaps he would have told you his knowledge had you given to him what men desire".

"Silly girl, it was but a dream! Where no physical action means a many thing to any".

"Apologies, sister, I had no mind that you had lost your humour".

"Speak easy, sister, my conversation with the strange man continued. He told me his kin had disturbed the evil by removing its bed from the earth!"

"What do you speak of sister? What could he mean! Remove its bed from the earth, for it has no bed and how would it find its location deep within the realms of mother earth?"

"Sister, the man, not known to himself, had told me that to end the evil we must burry it! We must find its bed and fool it into sleep! Then while slumbering we must hurry with hand and shovel and place many mountains upon it, and so thus, it will slumber till the gods return to claim this earth we walk upon".

"But sister, you and I only have two hands to ourselves, together that is only four, how can four hands burry such darkness?"

"I am unsure, sister, but the strange man left me after".

"Perhaps father will know".

"Perhaps. But, sister, I fear, and truly believe, that father will leave us for the land of the rotten shortly, and we cannot utter words of this dream to him. For as cruel as this is, as poorly as our familial connection be by such actions, we must hurry him along, if only so we ourselves can venture with a quicker pace towards the removal of such a creature".

"Sister! I am in gasp! Do you suggest we push into the land of the rotten the man who from his loins gave us life?"

"To end the creature's reign upon our world, yes, sister, that is what I suggest. But do not fret yourself with such guilt, for I, as the elder, will take the responsibility, and many would say what we do is of more mercy given our Father's current state. Yes, sister, I will do the deed, if only to end the deeds of that creature".

The conversation ceased and the two young hunter sages carried their journey on in silence until they reached the cave.

The younger sat on a rock and sung hymns in a tongue to her patron, the elder entered and after several verses, the deed was completed and she returned.

She held the staff in her hand and stood before her sister.

"Sister, the staff can defeat the monster that walks the earth in the body of the youth for sure, but it can only travel with one of us".

"You are the eldest, it is your birth right, you must carry it, also, sister, as you know, I am too inexperienced in the ways of its usage".

"No sister, you will carry part of it, as you carry part of our father and part of our mother".

The eldest lay the staff on the rock and using another split the long staff down the middle. The two spent remainder of the morning strengthening the splintered form by wrapping it with strips of leather and flax.

--

The sisters having lived their lives together until this point and having spoken many words between them, did not need or feel such a need to utter any other phrase or word. For their feelings were known to both and time didn't need to be wasted by speaking them again.

They stood before each other, eyes locked, they nodded in acknowledgement and then before the emotions of their sex would take them, they parted. Neither knowing nor desiring such knowledge as to whether they would meet again or if their meeting would be after the moment that the creature was gone from this world.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty Six**

**10,025BC**

**Sun in the middle of the sky**

It was not an easy life to try and live alone in that current climate. The cold chill of the wind brushed up against her cheeks as she trudged through the heavy snow. She hadn't eaten in five days, subsisting mostly off sucking water from snow, which didn't help her temperature maintenance. She'd had a pouch filled with dried berries and smoked meat that she had carried for a few months that would occasionally refill when she came to the opportunity. However, now, it was long since empty, not even the sweet smell of such delights were left ingrained into the leather.

She reached a small stream that was frozen over, grasping her staff firmly she struck it down hard fracturing a frail looking area. With her work worn hands she broke away some of the ice and sat down with a small twig trying to catch something.

She tried to remember the days when she was a child, before the evil had come upon them, and the most she could recall was based on the warmth. The woman would swear to the fact it had gotten colder, much colder after the evil had come.

The numbers of tribes had dwindled as well. Before the evil, before the creature, there had been many little tribes living along the shores of the river and around the large lake that sat at the bottom of the huge mountain range that separated them from the ocean, a body of water she had only ever heard about, but had never actually seen. The range too much, she hoped, for even the evil to cross. But she knew that it was still here, still ravaging the plains. There were nights when the screams of the creature's victims were welcomed by her hearing, and by day or several days later she would stumble upon their remains. Charred and blackened, some without flesh upon their gnawed bones, their tiny tents bare of furs and leaf, the sticks that held them blackened, broken, horribly shattered remains of bowls and weapons that would never stand their own against the monster.

Her eyes had never laid themselves upon the creature.

Never viewed it.

Only descriptions from her father.

From the father.

Her mother and her sister had never laid eyes upon it.

She had only ever seen its destruction.

The gods saw to it that her hunger would be satisfied that day, a fish mindlessly chomped down upon the wriggly twig, perhaps driven by its own insatiable need. She plucked it up successfully and without a need or disgust against she devoured it raw, its body still flapping as she chewed off chunks of its cold flesh.

Had the young woman existed in a future time she would have been inwardly horrified at how she had wolfed down the entire fish, instead, she spent her time picking the scales out of her teeth and when that unpleasant task was done she washed her hands in the cool water.

She stood.

She turned.

She was struck.

She fell.

She crashed through the hard ice and down into the chill of the stream which was much deeper than she had imagined.

Its crispness stung her harshly and she felt as if thousands of wasps were stinging her with tiny spears simultaneously. Somehow she managed to struggle free of the icy pull and gripping the slippery shards she yanked herself out to face what she had only ever known from description.

The creature had not aged.

It was still a boy.

But what told her it was the creature was that lack of eyes.

It laughed at her.

It waited for her to clamber up out of the freeze.

It waited for her to pick up the half of the mystical staff that had given her hope on so many of those empty, lonely nights.

She gripped the leather tightly and looked up at him, she stared into those empty, bloodied sockets and the ran at him, screaming out a string of words that formed a powerful spell, swinging her staff the feathers and small animal skulls rattled fiercely and she struck the creature.

The feeble stick broke into fragments beyond count.

The little skulls snapped from their leather strings and flew off into various dead grasses and flora.

The feathers floated free to land on the cold earth where they would be trodden under foot.

The young sage staggered back in shock, looking down at the remains of the staff she still held. It had done nothing, the powerful spell she had uttered, no effect!

Something hit her; she lost her balance and fell down into the chilly snow.

She groaned as she rubbed her head. Something was on her chest. Something was looking at her. That something was her sister.

Correction, that something was her sister's face.

Those once solid brown eyes had been removed and the sticky sockets bore testament to the brutality that was her last sight.

Her mouth was open just ever so slightly, as the mouths of the dead were often found.

The skin was shrivelled ever so slightly, it had not been preserved, her sister had been without breath for perhaps five days. There was definitely some signs of rot around the more delicate skin and the smell was certainly evidence of that.

Creature approached, reached down, and grasped the hair of the severed head of her sister. He lifted it up and swung it down to strike her, again and again and again. Her screams were so awful she would deny she ever made them.

This was how it would end for her?

Part of her mind cried to her.

Alone, cold, wet, orphaned, without blood line or linage, without hope of keeping alive that heritage and ancestry that was now laid on her shoulders?

NO!

It wouldn't end with her.

She reached down and felt through the snow a sharp rock, not knowing how deeply it was impregnated in the earth she took a chance and pulled anyway. She brought it up and swung as hard as possible, slamming it into the thigh of the creature. There was a horrible shattering sound and the creature went down hard.

Clambering up onto its form, it struggled momentarily, but the creature should have chosen a more suitable host as a child's body was not as strong. She lifted the rock high above her head and bought it down on those empty sockets. Again, and again and again, mimicking the speed and pace of the creature as he had struck out at her with her deceased sister. The sage didn't stop until its head was a bloody mess of pulp, a mixture of brain and skull and hair and blood and skin and whatever else made its way to dwell within that part of the body.

"I have no knowledge of if this method will bring upon us your fate, but I will not cease until you no longer wander this world!"

Screaming she thrust a jagged part of the rock through the flesh of its neck, she began to rotate the chunk of earth in her hands until it was starting to make a rather nasty tear in the flesh. It wasn't long before the vertebrae was visible, at that she smashed her trusty rock into the bones and continued until they were nothing but a bloody white collection of fragments. The spinal cord was damaged, but not disconnected, she reached down and pulled it upwards, the head moving at a sickeningly unnatural angle until, having it tort, she used her teeth to chew through.

And then, as simply as that, the head of that creature was severed from its body.

Its body ceased to move, and it was then she realised how vicious the scratches and bruises that it had inflicted upon her as she struggled to kill it, it struggled for freedom.

Its black blood covered to her form and she turned and vomited into the stream, before dunking her head down into the water… not in the same place of course… to rinse the foulness from her own mouth and senses.

Resting, she laid down in the snow for a few moments but ended up drifting into a cool sleep.

**Nightfall**

She was soaked through when she woke, and the chill was such that she feared she may greet morning in the land of the rotten. The sage decided to move onwards, hoping she might run into a party of her own who might offer her the comfort of a warm fire. And perhaps even the hospitality of a husband once they see that she has dispatched the evil creature that had touched the lives of many.

Under a large tree she buried the head of her sister, hoping the small ceremony she performed would be welcomed and approved of. Ordinarily she would take her sister to a point where the wind would blow eastwards and upon a funeral pyre she would be burnt while the eldest would stand and chant the prayers and spells that would assure her safe passage onwards, but she refused to carry the body of that monstrosity with her younger sister.

Strangely, the night seemed slightly warmer, which was odd for a number of reasons, but she gave it no mind and continued to traverse the land towards the origin of all of this.

Father of creature had told her of the strange tent they had found while searching for his son. He explained how he approached it, and found blood laying everywhere on a small ledge leading down towards it. On the edges of the door was a bloodied hand print about the same size as his son's. There could be no other explanation. He entered, and the sensation he had when he was inside him would never be removed. He would spend the rest of his life trying to find the warmth. He saw the same things his son saw; of course he could not know that. To him, the head on the floor, staring out at him with strange eyes, had never belonged to a being given life or even a deity, it was an idol, and chances are, perhaps this place was a temple, and this creature that took his boy was angry at the desecration. He refused to believe his son would ever knowingly commit an act of grave sacrilege against a temple of a god, but perhaps it was an accident, or perhaps someone else had been the perpetrator of such a heinous crime. Of course, it didn't really matter who was the cause.

The father had been unable to venture any further into the vessel and so had not seen the remains that thousands of years later would be discovered by a curious Autobot.

So, perhaps if she returned this thing's body to the temple and somehow burry the thing, it would leave her be. It would never walk the earth again. And she could find a tribe somewhere to join and a man to claim her as his own and things would continue normally for a woman of that time.

The slither of the moon was bearing down on its final quarter across the sky when she came upon another.

He was a man of her age, of powerful physique and stanch expression. He halted her progression and demanded to know what business a woman had dragging a headless body through the forest, his tribe's forest, at this time. Then he saw the eyeless face.

"This be the creature!!"

He growled at her.

"How has it come to pass that a mere woman has come into possession of this ill gotten monster's form?"

He demanded firmly.

"Sir, I am no mere woman, I am a sage, a carrier of a blood line destroyed by this thing, and without me, that blood line will cease. It killed my tribe many, many winters ago, so many I cannot count them without being called a distorter of the truth! My grandfather and grandmother sacrificed themselves to give warning to my tribe, but such a warning was not heralded by any, and so when this creature approached my father attempted warning! My father had taken his father's place as tribe witch doctor! But alas, he was not counted as a man of substance of opinion, and the chief ignored him to his peril and the peril of our tribe! My father stole my mother and my sister and myself away to the depths of the forest and it was that that creature lay death upon the heads of my kin! It was during our escape that we made paths with a man who was the father of the child who the creature took as his form! He showed us the place that he had found, a place he claimed the creature must have come from! It was believed by my wise father and the pitiable father of this boy monster that the gods of some dark art must of dealt within that temple and this child somehow angered them, or was believed to have angered them by those deities! My belief, then sir, is to return this body to the temple and burry it".

"You tell an interesting tale indeed, woman, and I give you my word that I find you to be truthful and without misdeed in your telling, of course, I am but a lowly warrior without the mind of a sage or scholar and feel my opinion of you could be based on such a lower mind. Therefore, I will return you to my tribe, where my chief and his wise and learned sages will reside upon you and your story".

"I pray to you, dear sir, that upon this night you do take me to your chief and his wise and learned sages who will reside upon my story, and that I tell them such a horrid tale and upon their minds and hearts they accept it as truth! For I am but a mere woman with but two mere hands, and two mere hands could not possibly hope to burry an entire temple of angry gods! Perhaps this being would relive again within this tiny frail boy and the hastier that we burry such an evil temple, the hastier we will find this monster gone from our sights and the sights of our descendants forever!"

**Sunrise**

She told her story to the chiefs and sages, and they listened and they believed. One of the Chief's son had been a friend to another tribe, where he had courted that chieftain's daughter with intention of marriage. It was a cold night that the creature had happened upon their small tribe and had done what it did to all tribes it happened upon – it destroyed them.

The chieftain's son and the daughter he hoped to woo took into the night and came back to his home where he told his father of the things he had seen, in particular confirming the truth of the child without eyes that was responsible for such carnage.

It was then decided that many hands would indeed lighten the task the mere woman had set herself, and by 8am, though they did not know it as that time, they would set out, entire tribe, to burry the temple so many kilometres away.

And it took them all of three weeks to complete the task, setting upon the temple's mound a huge monument crafted from rock that would serve as warning to those who would dare near it.

The female sage placed the remains of the boy within the vessel at the nose of the severed idol's head and then backed out, chanting words of apology and a beg for forgiveness.

After the last of the dirt was pushed over the craft, and it was covered from human eyes, the female sage was welcomed into the tribe as a worthy individual for what she had managed, and she was given wed to the man she had met in the forest that night, he of course was very happy with this arrangement and took her with unnatural speed fuelled by lust to his tent where they began the effort of child producing.

And she did produce children.

But she did not tell them of her travels.

She did not tell them of their true blood line.

Nor of her sister, nor of her parents, nor of her tribe.

And the children of all in that tribe were never given story of that creature, for fear one may be stung by the curiosity that stung all children and they might seek this place and wake that creature.

And that female sage would live her life happily and without want and would die peacefully in her warm furs dreaming of a man she never spoke of to her husband.

Her husband would produce three more children with a younger woman and then that husband would be killed in an accident while hunting, having fallen from a rock face after going the wrong direction, age had wearied his mind and limbs and gave him no mercy after he lost his footing over that ledge.

Their children would live lives that were expected of them, with nothing extraordinarily happening to them and they would go to the land of the rotten without thought of a monster that had plagued their mother so.

And not one of those involved would ever give thought to the fact that many many winters later it might rise again.

--

**Author's NB: **I swear to Primus this has a purpose.

As for the way they speak, it sounds almost, Shakespearian, sort of, but I figured, they'd have their own language and translating it into English might actually have it end up sounding like that. Plus, I think it sounds kinda cool.

Also, I wanted to keep you all on your toes (all, what, six of you? Hehe) and keep you guessing with the concept of an ancient evil.

And you know, I often wonder about my ancient ancestors, what they did before the time of bottled water and indoor heating and laptops. I mean, its kinda creepy really, human evolution and progression across the planet. I was reading something the other day that said everyone with blue eyes came from some guy from a place that is now Turkey, 10,000 years ago who lived on a river bed and that blue eye gene was a great big mutation. Okay…. Um… that's enough of that rambling.

Thanks for all the r/vs by the way peeps, I appreciate it.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty Seven**

**24****th**** December**

**1000hrs**

He had no idea that the sun was halfway across the morning sky, nearing the highest point it would rest. He had no idea of any concept of time or designation, either in the human expression or his own. All he knew was the darkness. The quiet was occasionally interrupted by a scream or a howl or a laugh or something equally unsettling, but he was starting to get used to it, if only from need. The soft muck sludged under his boots and he was soon at another junction in the shafts.

The pangs of discomfort came against his struts when he stood still for too long and so he turned to the left, if only due to the fact the breeze coming from that direction didn't stink like rotten organic matter. Walking through such a maze gave him time plenty to think over his life, its meanings, his place in it, and his relationship with his brother, his twin.

Events of the last few weeks had been unreal, they had been insane, could he go back to the Autobots, could _they_? Would they be welcomed back? Rodimus could be cool enough, but the likes of Magnus and Kup when he got going? Okay, so in reality their recent actions weren't that bad, they'd done enough damage to human structures before that their diplomats and politicians were, as the human expression was, "ripped the crotch right out of their undies", of course, the grammar didn't seem right, and he didn't know what undies were or how their crotch would be torn from it. Frankly, he didn't want to know. Optimus had always just made them go repair the damage, which was policy, especially if Decepticon involvement had been the cause, and after a stay in the brig, Prowl would haul their afts down to the construction site and under the guidance, or rather, control of that pedantic whiner Grapple they'd do the most menial of tasks. But yeah, that was under Optimus, and even Prowl was easier on the servos then Magnus, and then there was the matter of kidnapping a human and destroying her home. That probably wouldn't go down well. It was one thing to "accidently" fall over into a human building, or step on an empty bus or spill lubricant all over a botanical garden, but to _intentionally _cause such destruction, ah… haha, it didn't settle well with the brass. Oh, and of course, there was the matter of kidnapping the scientist and assaulting the aerial commander, an officer, and then kidnapping him.

It all seemed to be part of some great big cosmic joke.

Vorns past he'd heard his brother utter the same frustrated comment when he'd approached his yellow twin to ask if the war was right for them, if there was a place in it for them.

Their know back story was correct; they had been crafted with the sole intent of being warriors. They were of the generation of mechs who rolled off the construction line into this mess of a civil war. They had no choice in the matter really. They could not judge their actions or the need for their actions based on the pre-war memory, because to them, they had no such memory. They were told what to believe, what to remember, those memories were second hand. It allowed no lee-way for self development, for the ability to decide for oneself. The humans had a concept, the right to choose, he wasn't sure what the hell they were on about, but it sure was controversial, they were always arguing about it, politicians were always saying they supported it or saying they thought it was above their pay grade or some such phrase that got the fleshy mob in an uproar. He had no right to choose. Sure, he'd never be a Decepticon, but he would have appreciated the right to choose NOT to be an Autobot. His brother didn't mind either way, Sunstreaker enjoyed the battle, the fight, the damage he could dish out with that beautiful frame of his, and for moments, when the lust for energon took him, he forgot about that vanity and tore into who ever was in front bearing that purple face distorted. After, he'd complain about nicks to his paint job and dents to his plating. Sideswipe wanted out. Sunstreaker knew this. But they were both at a stale mate. Both couldn't separate, they'd both have to be doing the same thing, Sideswipe would never feel happy if Sunstreaker was out on the battlefield without him, and Sunstreaker knew he would not be able to concentrate if Sides was not next to him. It was a nuisance. Check. As the humans would say in that silly game they passed time with. Sideswipe had given up nagging his brother about it, and Sunstreaker had given up annoying his brother over his "desire" to leave.

Of course, with recent events, Side's mind had come back to this issue. Life was obviously short, but there was obviously a life after this one, and could Sideswipe, in good conscience, accept his actions as worthy of a good afterlife? They were questions he didn't want to ask and questions he knew he didn't want answers to. But maybe these horrors would be jolt enough for them both.

Thoughts swirled within his CPU over all of the tenants of his life and then they were interrupted by a scuttling sound.

He paused.

He strained his audios to hear.

It was a different sound to what he had heard so far down here.

It didn't match the soft mud that he walked through.

It didn't match the footsteps another mech or even an organic could make in such an environment.

It didn't match any of the noises he'd been subjected to down in this hole.

There it was again.

It had an odd kind of shuffle to it. It was disjointed in pacing and had no apparent pattern to it. It was just a quick, loud, messy scuttle.

Something struck him on the head.

By no stretch of the imagination was it aggressive.

Again.

He put his hand up on his head and pick from his cranium a small pebble. He held it in his hand and rolled the small stone between his fingers.

It was just a few pieces of the rocky ceiling falling from their place. He hoped like the Pit it wasn't an indication of a cave in.

Deciding it was nothing to concern his fuel pump about, he continued on his way.

He'd only taken a few more steps when the scuffle sound happened again and a few more fragments fell upon him, bouncing from his metal helmet, the fine dust rubbing its way into the grooves on his armour.

"Damn it all!"

He grumbled.

It sounded like something was rubbing against the roof, perhaps an organic, like a bat, those things lived in caves and would crawl along the natural protrusions. He turned and looked upwards, what he saw would be yet another image that would haunt his CPU for the rest of his cycle.

"primus".

He whispered as he stared up at the thing on the rocks.

It had been human once.

Its body was that of a pre-pubescent, or a child.

It was small and slender, short in stature.

From around its neck hung a necklace of small stones and animal skulls, perhaps rodents?

Its skinny arms stretched out in a distance that was not natural for its size, the odd bulges on each shoulders told why, the arms were dislocated allowing a few extra centimetres.

Its fingers were filthy, caked in dirt and a dried substance he was guessing was blood, animal or human he didn't know nor did he want to. Those fingers dug themselves deeply in to the ceiling he clung from.

He wore no clothing and seemed unconcerned about this fact.

Its head had once been severed from its form.

However, it was now rejoined by a stick. It was dug deep into the stump where it was rend from; the dark pulpy muck was dried to his front and caked on that necklace.

But that wasn't what creeped him out about the human… whatever.

It had no eyes.

Its jaw dropped over to hiss at him, its lips drew upwards, and teeth, worn, shattered, browned were bared.

"Um… that's nice… ah… I'm… ah… coming mummy!!"

Sideswipe turned and forgetting the belligerent distrust of the mud and its constant pull on his form, he ran, aware of the scuttling sound continuing from behind him.

He couldn't remember the last time he was this scared, running through an abandoned mine that had once been a Decepticon base of operation, encased in darkness, listening to his intake vents pulling in air to try and cool his heating systems, the scuttling of that thing behind him, chasing him, scurrying its polluted form along the ceiling just above his head, alone… bar for that thing, and that was not the company he wanted. He came to a sudden halt when he slammed into a hard rock wall. Loosing his balance he fell backwards, strangely, landing very hard in that soft muck.

A sticky slap indicated the creature had landed on top of him.

He swatted at it as it moved along his form, over his chest, up towards his face.

"GET OFF ME!!"

He screamed as he punched his fists against his body.

It was on his face now, it stench wafting into his olfactory senses, some of its dripping fluids and muck reaching into his mouth and violating his flavour senses. Then its grubby little hands, with its broken, muck caked fingers began clawing at his optics.

And then his optics were shattered.

He screamed like he had never screamed before, still fighting to get it off, but it kept moving itself to avoid his desperate grasps.

He got lucky, or Primus blest him.

Sideswipe made contact with the creature, blind, he clasped his hand firmly around it and spun, crushing it as he did, he hurled it along the tunnel he had just run through. His audios alerted him to the fact it had collided with something and then flopped into the sludge. There was no scuttling after that. But he didn't trust that.

Truly blind, he clambered up quickly, wanting to get away as quickly as possible, the things he had witnessed lately, down here especially, they were easily capable of going in for round two, and the red twin didn't want to be its opponent.

The Autobot ran along a passage he remembered branched off fifty metres before the dead end, he hadn't had time to twist down it while being pursued, but given it happened before where that thing had landed, he thought it was his best bet. Even though he had been in the pitch before, knowing his optics no longer functioned unsettled him a lot worse. He pushed himself, forcing whatever energon reserves he had to do its job and fuel his escape. Wondering how serious his injuries were that so many systems were offline, only his primary functions were still clicking over. He wanted to rest, but he knew he didn't have the luxury of time.

The scuttling sounds resumed.

"LEAVE ME A LONE!"

He roared.

"PLEASE!!!"

The shuffling intensified.

Sideswipe was suddenly aware he'd lost his balance.

The twin realised he was unable to correct.

He was tumbling.

Down and down and down.

There was a loud crash.

He was pushed into unconsciousness, the last thing he had awareness of before he succumbed, was the scurrying.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty Eight**

**24th December, 1788AD**

**1100hrs**

His name was Bill Strongman.

Well, he weren't sure if Strongman was the last name of his pappy, but it was the name his boss 'ad given him when he showed up for work here that fine spring mornin'.

The mining trade, now there was a trade indeed for such a strapping Negro.

His Pappy had been a plantation slave, toiling under the hot Louisiana sun till he died. After his Pappy _went home _as the expression was, the plantation owner fell under hard times; he was a gambler and would often place up whatever property or money he had at hand to lay a bet on them tables.

One day, it happened to be ole Bill Strongman who was offered up in place of currency.

Now, it tweren't no effort at all to gamble, but it should only be done by those who could do it right, and his ole master, well, sir, he couldn't no gamble more then he could do a hard days work on the plantation! So, that's how ole Bill Strongman ended up in the darkened mines doing a job without pay and without freedom.

But that didn't concerns ole Bill, no sir, Bill was happy just to be doing something, and if someone else got the benefit, well, that didn't bother ole Bill none at all!

The master had promised the men, slaves and freed alike, that should they meet today's quota and finish placing the support beams of the next three tunnels then they could have Christmas off and spend it with their families. Now, Bill, he didn't have no family anymore, but he did have a good group of friends who would be sure as the British were tea drinkers to offer him up a good old fashioned Christmas dinner courtesy of their master's left overs, course, there was more to Christmas then fancy food and fine gifts, yip, Christmas was about family and if you didn't have none, it was about friends and Bill was sure as the rain was wet that all people had friends!

Now, Bill's job was simple, he'd dig.

That's all.

Just dig.

It was up to the smart folk, the white folk, to figure out where to dig and for how long and in what direction, and this fine winter's morning, he was told to dig north and not stop until told. And so he did.

Ole Bill dug north and didn't stop…

Well, he did stop, but not because he was told, but because the wall of dirt gave way under his pick axe and collapsed inwards into a large chamber.

Now, such chambers under the sod weren't uncommon, but they didn't happen upon a man very often.

What definitely didn't happen upon a man… well… ever, especially for ole Bill was that chambers under the earth held big ole metal horseless carriages.

Is that what that thing was? A carriage?

"Eh BOSS!"

He roared with his deep lungs pushing out those mighty words.

"You right better come see what I am seein' down 'ere boss".

"What you hollerin' about, ole Bill?"

A man poked his head into the tunnel holding a larger lamp then Bill used, he was one of the chaps who saw to the slaves down here, a free man by the name of Harry Robinsyn, spelt quite oddly with a "Y", a man with a thick Irish accent that didn't match up with the name he offered with a handshake greeting. Word around the mine was he'd gotten himself up into some unsavoury type business and then changed his name on arrival to America.

"Look 'ere, Boss, I say I ain't never laid me peepers against something the likes of that!"

Bill pointed one of those stocky fingers at the shuttle and Harry had to agree. He stepped forward into the chamber and holding his lamp approached the large structure.

"What in the name of the Virgin is that?"

"Dunno, boss".

The question wasn't directed at Bill, but he gave answer.

"I'm getting Mr. Wilson".

Harry rushed from the chamber, rather rattled, shouting instruction to Bill to stay here.

Mr. Wilson being the mine's foreman.

Bill may not have been a smart man, maybe he could have been if he had been allowed to go to school, to learn to read, and write and do math, but being a slave, and a largely built one, meant to his master, there was no point in educating a Negro. Had he been born in another time, the IQ that sat deep within him, locked away by prejudice, would have flourished and given him the means to be a great academic, but that was for another time, perhaps an ancestor would have greater and freer success, that was all a slave could hope for. Bill would not venture into that thing; he was not dim enough to do something so reckless. He instead wandered along the sides of it, his fingers tracing along the chilled steel, much in the same way fingers of another human life had done so many, many years before.

Bill had no intention of accessing the vessel, but was rather concerned that something, somehow, had opened it. The large door that he didn't know was a door swished open and he found himself standing before it. His tiny lamp giving only a small amount of light into the pitch.

He then became aware of just how cold, just how dark, and just how desolate it was down here. The shuttle was half buried in the curving wall of the chamber. What had once been a window was blackened by age and covered in dirt. Large boulders had fallen against it, denting its hull and then falling to the side, pressing themselves up next to its walls. Mould and moss having now sprawled their organic material against the long stilled rocks.

Someone was being him.

He turned quickly and found nothing.

"Boss Harry? Mr. Wilson? That you there?"

There was no answer. He shrugged. But he still felt as if someone was there, watching. He got scared. He stepped up into the vessel, if only to escape the sensation of eyes on his back.

The interior was foreign to him, but then he'd say the same of a fine house. The first thing he noted, unlike the first human who lay a bare foot down in this place, was the head of the dead machine. His mind, simple as it had been demeaned, did grasp the concept that this metal face staring at him, was one, not human, and two, was dead, meaning it had once been alive – whether it was some fancy suit that a human wore about their form, like armour, or… well… he didn't want to think of the other option.

He then noticed the remains of the boy.

The body was well preserved from the chill that the ship saw to wrap around him.

"Oh Lordy".

Ole Bill stepped back, lost his balance and fell from the craft.

"Oh Lordy!!"

He called out.

"Bill, what say you?"

It was Mr. Wilson.

"Mr. Wilson! Mr. Wilson! Boss! There be a body in there, a sure as heck is hot, dead body!"

"How fascinating".

Mr. Wilson ignored the slave he didn't own and instead approached the vessel; his comment was based on the shuttle and not on the concept of a dead individual within.

"This… this… this is amazing! Do you know what this is! What this means?"

He sounded so excited; he waved his hands upwards, his left still clasping the finely crafted cane.

"What's that, Mr. Wilson?"

Harry asked.

"It's a vessel! From another world! Perhaps Mars! Maybe even the moon! Can you imagine! Finding such a wonder in my mine! On my watch! I'm going to be a rich man indeed!"

"No disrespect to you Mr. Wilson, but I dun reckon its something to lets be forgettin".

"Shut your stupid ignorant mouth".

The word that came after mouth was a word ole Bill was used to hearing and a word of insult indeed, but as a slave, he could do nothing to claim his honour.

"Just not right, is all, something down here, and it ain't that horseless carriage".

He whispered to himself.

Harry heard, but said nothing.

"What you want us to do, Mr. Wilson".

Harry instead asked.

"Get more lamps down here, I want to see more of this wonder".

--

The find had caused all activity to cease, the majority of workers were sent home, if only to keep the find secret. They were aware of something happening, and the rumour was they'd stumbled upon some Indian burial ground, and with talk of curses and scalpings, they were only too happy to head back to camp and their families and their meagre Christmas dinners.

Ole Bill, however, was told to stay behind with a few of the other slaves to work to reveal more of this vessel. Mr. Wilson had walked free from the ship holding in his hand the head of the eyeless youth, laughing and speaking words of cheer to all who granted him their attention. Mr. Wilson, for all his finery and fancy education and his pretty wife and pretty children then did something that ole Bill, slave or not, knew was disgusting. Mr. Wilson threw the skull a few centimetres above him and then smacked it like a baseball with his cane. The skull flew through the air and then struck a side of the chamber before crashing down to the ground, a few clumps of dirt burying it… for another few hundred years.

"Get rid of that filth, I don't want anything ruining my big moment, and nothing ruins a moment of adoration like a dead… child".

There was that word again.

How did Mr. Wilson know the child had been of that race?

The skin was black probably because of age and death, not because of any perceived ill gotten birth right.

It made him mad beyond mad.

Ole Bill took it upon himself to wrap that child in a blanket, with a toy horse he had whittled and then buried him deeper in the mine, away from the shuttle and the chamber and hopefully in a place where he could sleep undisturbed.

Ole Bill didn't know how this child met his end, or how he'd come to loose his peepers, or how he came to be in that metal carriage, but he did know enough to know that it weren't right to disrespect no corpse. Poor kid had parents at one time, and that mammy and pappy would shed too many tears to count if they saw their baby being treated so, even after having _gone home._

_Gone to the land of the rotten._

Words in a different voice spoke within his head.

"Wah?"

He asked out loud, quite taken back by sudden interruption to his thoughts.

--

Ole Bill was none to impressed when Mr. Wilson told him and two other slaves to watch the vessel that night, to sleep down in that cold, damp chamber to make sure no one steals it away in the night. Which, even Harry was seen to think was stupid, who could come in and take such a vessel without the knowledge of them? And even if they could get in, how would they get out? How would they get out? And who, other then they, knew about it?

Ole Bill decided not to concentrate on the strange doings of white folk and decided instead to sleep.

It was in his dreams that he found himself in a valley. It was pretty. Nice trees with their flowing branches and their lush green leaves bristled along on that chilly wind. There was a little stream that passed through the valley and next to it was a series of tee-pees. He liked Indians, they were a fine type indeed, and he liked their feathered head dresses and the way they didn't take much from the Whites. They were a good sort indeed. An Indian fella had met him once, was polite enough to him, and almost pitied him, how could a man own another man, he had asked Ole Bill, who explained that his pappy, and his pappy before him had been owned so he was owned too. The Indian man was rather stunned by this, but accepted that all were different and that a different culture with a different belief didn't make it wrong, just different, and since ole Bill seemed to not bother much with the formalities of being owned, the Indian let it go.

There was a fire dimly smouldering in the centre.

There were half butchered animals lying about the fire.

Old weapons, spears and the like were snapped and broken.

There was blood everywhere.

Up ahead he could hear a girl's voice, she was singing, he walked towards her.

The tee pee's material, a series of skins, were parted.

"Hello?"

He asked.

"Greetings".

A voice from inside replied.

"Tis ole Bill".

"Ole Bill, come inside".

He did, finding the owner of the voice sitting on a fuzzy fur.

"Waz your name?"

He asked.

"Hello, ole Bill! Have you come to me as a man comes to a woman?"

"Ah… ole Bill don't know much about that sort of thing, I just thought I'd come see where the people be at?"

"The people are gone".

Her voice was sullen but she continued her work.

He noticed she was stitching something.

Her tools were primitive, a piece of fish bone for a needle and dried guts for thread. Was she sewing before?

"Where'd the people go, ma'am?"

"They went to the land of the rotten".

"Where's that be at?"

"That would be at a place of much sorrow".

"I know sad places".

"Sit yourself ole Bill and take warmth from these furs which my great warrior uncle obtained on his hunting quests".

"They be fine furs indeed, ma'am. Furs a like I never saw".

"You speak pleasing words to me, shame that my great uncle is gone that he may not take complement".

"Where'd your uncy go?"

"He went to the land of the rotten".

"Gosh and golly, ma'am, sure be a lot of people you know that are going to that place of rottenness".

"It be a result of the creature's action".

"Creature?"

"An evil being that came from a strange vessel".

"I found me a strange vessel".

"Where upon did you find such a thing?"

"Under the ground. It was buried in a great deal of dirt and muck and all sorts of things that you find in the underground".

The dream ended.

Ole Bill sat up from his dream, the other slaves sleeping soundly next to him. In the dark he was aware of the feeling of being watched, but that sensation wasn't unpleasant to him, it wasn't like before, it felt as if whoever was watching wasn't meaning any harm.

In the darkness he caught sight of two blue lights flickering at him, a shape of a man, but much to large to be one. The silhouette was one of sharp lines and angles, definitely not a man.

"Who be there? Who be watching ole Bill".

It didn't give a name, it merely disappeared.

And somewhere, in the future, in the same mine, Sideswipe woke.

--

**Author's NB: **Forgive me, I know NOTHING about American history, its not really taught down under in little ole New Zealand, and Wiki provided little answers, so I'm sure as sure as the sky is blue on a summer's day that I've pretty much caused the pants of every historian to soil their pants. Though, I've tried to rely on general knowledge of American history (and movies) as much as I could so hopefully, there's no major boo boos. I know there were mines in Germany in 1750 so here's hoping there's some in the States at that time. Please, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong!

And hopefully no one up and accuses me of racism. _ (And with the family I got adopted into, last thing I can be accused of is racism, Hahah).


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's NB: **Sorry about the time its taken for me to get this up, but I've been busy and I didn't want to do this any disservice by rushing out some pile of rubbish.

**Chapter Forty Nine**

**1****st**** January, 1789**

**1430hrs**

"Ladies and gentlemen, I offer sincerest apologies to you all on this crisp new year's day for the rather… unsavoury conditions you find yourself in. But I assure you, if your patience prevails you will witness something extraordinary!"

It was a strange sight indeed, finely suited men with delicately dressed women standing ankle deep in the foul sludge of the earth. Large boots pulled over their pristine shoes, the ladies holding up their skirts and dresses ever so modesty to avoid the mud that sloshed about. It was indeed an ask to have such high class individuals to trek down into the deep damp bowels of the earth for this event.

If only one thing could be said of Mr. Wilson, it was that he was a show man; he enjoyed the spoils of popularity and placing upon his name a reputation that would garnish his home with wealth. And Mr. Wilson had gathered to himself that day some of the new world's most prominent names. There were a few politicians, a couple of generals who had been invited under the promise of a "great military splendour", there were bankers and business owners and men of vast historical wealth, and of course, the ladies were daughters and wives of those fine men, only a few, six ladies accompanying fifty men in good standing. Of course, by the time darkness would slip across the earth all of them would lay dead in that place, their jewels and fine clothes meaning little to the cold earth that would caress them with rot.

So, Mr. Wilson, who's first name Bill couldn't recall if he'd ever been privy to hear, stood on the stage that Bill and his "co-workers" had to construct down in this ill gotten pit, his finest suit placed upon his form, holding his arms in the air, gave his speech:

"There are so few words of such finery that could describe those beautiful ladies and respected gentlemen that sit before me, truly your grandness is all that makes this bog worth a moment of patience. And since you have all given me humour to venture down into this sludge that you are hear to further enhance your knowledge of the world about you. For what I am about to show you, my respected friends, is something so marvellous that words fail to give me an explanation, so, instead of continuing to bore you with semantics and torture you with suspense, I will simply reveal what I discovered down here, a discovery that God Himself could not be prouder of!"

Mr. Wilson reached behind him and pulled the gilded velvet rope that was attached to a large curtain of satin that covered the ship from the wooden railing that ole Bill himself had to craft and install, a dangerous task indeed. The satin parted, and it was revealed, revealed to gasps of surprise, shock and awe.

"Mr. Wilson, pray tell us, what is this thing?"

One of the ladies stood, her large frame pushing outwards against the silk and cotton dress she wore, but still a woman of great fame, being the wife of the General who often thanked her in victory speeches for the fine home she had crafted him, the succulent feasts she served him and the twelve brave and strong sons she had bore him (few mention of the six daughters).

Her husband added his agreement to the question.

"Lady, I implore you to believe that this vessel behind me is not crafted by the hands of mere men, but rather, the tapering limbs of aliens".

The consensus amongst the crowd was one of shock and surprise, and the occasional outright disbelief. A few huffs of "preposterous" were heard to be uttered.

"For I too was stunned to believe such a thing, but creatures of a metal nature have frequented this world of ours many, many winters past and have left upon this earth one of their, as this simple Negro boy admits to, "a metal horseless carriage". And truly, I say to you, as the Great Lord God is my witness; this is indeed a carriage from another world. What purpose it had upon our home I do not care to fathom nor could I, for those beings that reside within have long since suffered the loss of breath".

"You mean to say there are aliens within that structure, Mr. Wilson?"

A businessman by the name of Merry Petershire stood and expressed loudly. He was a man of generous finance, his empire stretching beyond the shores of America to many places in Europe; he was known to holiday in a home near Paris and had many slaves working his many plantations.

"OH yes indeedy I am saying just that, good Mr. Petershire, in fact, I extend the offer to those of a firmer constitution to step inside and view said aliens. Of course, I must request the ladies wait here and enjoy some of the pleasant refreshments, cucumber sandwiches, cup cakes and tea as the men see to the hard sights".

There were pleasant mutterings amongst the women and anticipatory mumbles from the men.

"Well, ladies, if you would be ever so obliging to me to make your enjoyment from the tasty morsels prepared, and the men shall accompany me to the sights meant only for the stauncher sex".

The women made their way to the finely decorated table laden with all manner of sweets and other delectable's. Their husbands and fathers stood and followed Mr. Wilson towards the craft.

He gave another self-indulgent speech before the dull entrance – he'd had the slaves attempt to polish it to a gleam, but the alien metal refused to relent and only the native sod had yielded to the cloths and "elbow grease". Mr. Wilson, beaming, with an unnaturally large smile accessed the shuttle, opening the doors to a world none of them and their primitive science could have ever gifted their imagination with.

"Who amongst you will be the first to witness the wonders of another world, long since disposed by age and perhaps wanton stupidity?"

There were a few mumbles when Merry Petershire stepped forward.

"Such silly men you have gathered that none would transgress into a dead shuttle with, as you claim, Mr. Wilson, dead occupants".

"Dead indeed, Mr. Petershire, and hence the hesitation from myself, and I would hope, my fellows, is based on the respect of those unfortunate departed".

A man by the name Chester Walshberg, who had found his fortune in a way most here had not, he'd worked hard for it, spoke up.

"And what need of respect do the likes of aliens possess?"

Petershire remarked.

"Should not your dog, who guards your chickens, be in need of respect? Or the cow that suffers her young and your servants indiscreet pulling of her mammaries to provide your milk? And the Negro who sweats his brow and breaks his back pulling your cotton? Or perhaps the tree that provides you shade when you swelter in the heat of summer? Such things may not be human, sir, but truly, I inform you, they are, indeed, worthy of our respect, if not our utmost!"

"Then we are in agreement to disagree, sir! I say again, I will suffer no creature that within his chest does beat no human heart!"

Petershire pushed his way passed Mr. Wilson and into the gloomy shuttle, lit only be the dim candles and lamps Mr. Wilson had had Bill and his fellows place about the claustrophobic structure.

"This is it? This is the great alien you gave great words too? My five year old son with a brain enfeebled could have crafted something of more realism in the swamp mud of the Mississippi!"

The man scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest smugly. His fellows found the ability to forgo any respect for the dead and entered. Mr. Wilson looked a tad sheepish, and truly had thought they would be awed by such a sight – Lord knows, he had!

"Mr. Wilson, sir, what be in existence behind that door?"

A portly chap by the name of Bernard Sundale asked, a doctor by trade and finding work plentiful in this relatively new world, fraught with many an unpleasant way for a man to come to harm.

Mr. Wilson turned and viewed the door with some contempt, they had been unable to find a way to open it, even the strongest slaves and free with their ropes and pulleys had been unable to budge its hinges.

"I say to you, what sits behind that door is the wonder of a world unlike we've ever laid our human eyes upon! However, I say this gentlemen, such a room has not yet yielded our secrets, but perhaps, to one of you, it may open and endear us with imagination of a science too great for us to comprehend!"

"Oh by the stool of bulls!! You have not been able to open such a door because it's all an elaborate fraud! I would wager ten of my best horses and all of my slaves that this is just a cheap parlour trick, which may wow the minds of children and women, but not me, good sir, not me! And nor should any of you fine fellows fall prey to this charlatan!"

Petershire's previous level of excitement was gone from him and he no longer held in his heart the curious lust that had once fuelled him only moments ago as he sat in the audience listening to Mr. Wilson spin his tales.

"I am leaving! To the rest of you I beg you do the same, if only to ensure your finances stays within your purses and not in the hands of this… this… scoundrel!"

Had the others heeded his warning, then all of their lives would have been spared that day. As it was, Mr. Wilson, keen to do right by his reputation, he demanded two sticks of dynamite to be brought and the explosive carefully removed and laid along against the slight gap under the two large doors.

"A show indeed! If not the likes of Petershire desire to watch, then I will say to him, poor luck! I will enjoy myself in this hole and an explosion is always of something that does just that to my senses! Huzzah, Mr. Wilson, if all that comes of this day is the full belly of my wife and an explosion I will have been placated!"

Mr. Woodrow Potter had more dollars then sense, and was thought of as a complete idiot, if it were not for the fact of birth he would have known only poverty, but the money his father, his grandfather and his great grandfather had sweated their skin for and the money his wife's father had paid out, and that continuance kept him in riches and not rags.

The excitement picked up its pace within their veins once more and they brushed aside the momentarily distraction that was Petershire's outburst.

Ordinarily, under any other circumstance presented, no human explosive, short of a nuclear blast, could disrupt the integrity of a Transformer craft; of course, this one was aged and damaged by the accident that had caused it to slam into the soft earth it was now buried deep within. The explosion was muffled and seemed almost muted in its effect, but it caused the doors to give way just enough for a human male to slip through into the hell that lay behind.

There were no words uttered by any of the men as they stood staring up at the bodies of the dead aliens dangling from the ceiling, their metal flesh spotted with the energon that had long since dried.

The fear was deep within their souls, though they hadn't recognised it yet, Mr. Wilson was grinning ear to ear standing there brimming with pride. He could never have known what this place was, what those beings were or how they met their violently obvious fate – or whatever fate, how they met the actuality of being hung from the ceiling. Was it tradition? Part of their burial ceremonies? Or perhaps they were hung like meat to be dried, with the intention of simply preserving the body… but they were not of flesh and blood, so delicate and short lived, but metal.

No one noticed the slight clicking sound, of metal brushing against metal, the twitching of alloy fingers.

The men continued to stare, mouths gaping, the women continued to eat, mouths filled.

No one noticed the sudden onlining of optics.

Nor the slight movement of the head, carefully lifting to view those who had dared violate its sanctuary.

A cursory evaluation of its systems revealed its body worn by rust and destroyed by time, unable to extinguish those who had invaded. A mind so evil with a spark of pure darkness sought out a channel, a vessel with which it could reach out once again. It recalled a history where this had been done, the creatures that stood within this essential tomb, they were of the same species that had invaded once before, though, that first meeting had been from of ignorance, a sin that could be forgiven yes, but not to go unpunished! But it was these ones that came with a different intention within their hearts and minds, and those intentions were without honour and without concern for the respect and sanctity of this place.

And then a vessel was found.

Ole Bill was sitting there on a damp rock watching the fat white woman help herself to another handful of sandwiches, something came over him, a hatred like he'd never known, the pain of his ancestors the destruction of their homes the rape of their women, the kidnapping of their children who would be thrown into the shackles of slavery! So many of his kin had died on their wooden ships, suffering pain and humiliation and horrible illness so these white men could make their wealth, and watching that fat white woman, who's hands were soft and delicate, never having worked a day in her life, those fat saggy breasts were that way only due to age, not due to the feeding of children. Black slaves may not have been good enough to be free but they seemed acceptable to provide milk to the precious white babies that would grow to be tyrants like their fathers. The hatred took him, and Bill Strongman, slave, Negro, human being, ceased to exist.

He became the barer of the Matrix.

The Decepticon Matrix.

A collection of the most evil of sparks, sparks that could not accept their deaths or their requirement to pass on into the next existence, to pass into their Hell to pay for their grievous sins. So, it was a Decepticon leader by a name that became the worst of curses who crafted such a thing, a collection of all the evil, of every dark secret and malice thought.

Megatron had not so much feared it as a Matrix, but rather as a possession that was capable of great destruction, destruction that had since prevented itself from recognition of its kin. Decepticon and Autobot alike had no safety against it. The beings that existed within the ball of energy had become polluted by the sparks of the others, and any good, any honour any memory of Decepticon purpose had been wiped from their sparks so only cruelty and pitch remained.

Megatron saw it for what it was; a danger to all Decepticons, something that's power could never be contained and so must be cast aside to the deepest reaches of the universe.

This ball of hatred was what had driven Star Scream to such a point where he activity rebelled against Megatron. It was the second in command's assumption that such power should not be feared by the Decepticons, but he was but a sparkling who had no comprehension of what it was, what it had become.

Those that had piloted the shuttle were Decepticon warriors of various injury and infirmity, some had cosmic rust, others had diseases of the CPU, they were locked in stasis and the Decepticon matrix placed within one of them and then laid within the shuttle which was launched from the Nemesis before it attacked the Ark.

The bodies laid deep within the vessel, still functioning, but their minds offline.

The Deception Matrix awoke, and within the body it found itself in, it woke. It rose. It sought out, and destroyed the bodies of its kin. It dangled those forms from the ceiling to drain their energon into a pool so vast he licked it from the floor.

But the body of the barer was weak and frail from rust, it had been unable to escape the staunch metal and so its form had starved and then expired. It fell to the floor, its head breaking from its rusted body and rolled into its current placement.

Yet, evil is stubborn.

Evil doesn't like to be destroyed, it continued.

The first body of flesh it had taken had died, it had rotted quickly, unlike the rusted forms that took many millions of years to disintegrate, and once that small human form had been lost to the ages, only its skeleton remaining in a dried state, the evil within seeped out and floated into the surrounds.

And then it found Bill.

And it took Bill.

And Bill, like the child many years before him, ceased.

Bill was Bill no more.

Bill had become evil.

And evil hated.

And the body of Bill rebelled against those around him and Bill slaughtered.

The fat white woman was the first too fall.

She was enjoying the last of the cream covered scones when what was once Bill approached from behind.

She turned.

"What do you want, Negro?"

She asked, annoyed.

"Ooh, are there more scones? These are just such delectable treats that I'm sure my ample body will not protest at such a bounty".

Of course, Bill was not within the body that reached out and tore her throat from her neck. Blood and chunks of half chewed scone sprayed over his body. She was still alive, just for a few moments, the few moments it took for her brain to realise her heart had stopped, that her blood was escaping too quickly, and regardless of what her last thought was, she had no voice to utter it or to scream warning. She dropped, her large body flopping into the soft mud covered with the rugs laid down to provide some civilisation to the cave.

The evil stepped over her and punched his fist through the back of the head of the next woman, a young lass who of course, had no idea that she was dead. She hit the table and the sickening crack and the loud noises that resulted from breaking China and spilling drink caught the attention of the others.

Women began screaming.

Slaves began imploring.

The evil continued to kill, not moved by the pleas for mercy or the cries of shock and the yells for help from the men.

The men ran from within the vessel and one by one faced their deaths at the hands of the possessed.

And their deaths were very unpleasant.

Some put up a fight, pulling muskets and swords from their belts and firing into the large black body of flesh that was no longer Bill, but the evil within caused his existence to be uninterrupted by lead or steel.

The screams and shouts and shots reached the ears of Petershire who was almost to safety, but he would never make it. The cries were so horrid, so awful, pleading, begging, he was a man of honour and bravery and the heart of such a man would not allow his logic to turn him from the assistance needed by his fellows, no matter how foolish they had been. So Petershire turned back to offer whatever help he could. Such bravery had him killed.

It was Petershire's ghost that gave warning many centuries later to the Autobot staggering aimlessly through the tunnels.

But at that point, the slave to man who was now slave to evil found himself free of the living and began his assent to the surface, to spread a darkness further beyond the confines of a mine.

--

**Author's NB: **And there it is. I've spent the last twelve chapters trying to decide how to slip this explanation in, and instead of the bulky uncomfortable ability of Kup to regale us all with his ancient stories, including what he knows of the Decepticon Matrix, I liked this method better, hence the reason for the creation of Bill.

Anyway, it amazes me to think the American Supreme Court once said that Black people were only like 1/5th of a person!! How twisted is that?!?! Of course, there are those amongst the human family today who are not even considered human enough to be given the auspicious title of "person" and who are culled at the selfish whims of those meant to be their first protector. Sad how low humanity can stoop, really.


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's NB: **Ah haha, sorry about the lack of update, I've had to sort out a heap of stuff for the new shanty I now abide in, my orientation weeks at work are morning shifts and they always leave me buggered, and I've had more issues then I'd like to admit dealing with the phone company who runs the net connection – the bastards outsource the phone tech support people to some God forsaken country where they learn English from American DVDs or something. Seriously, that does not make one qualified to deal with the New Zealand accent – I am not angry at you, that is how all NZLer's sound, and we just want shit sorted!

Like, they told me on the 5th they'd have the net connected in three working days, I ring on the 9th and the woman tells me in this phoney Yank accent "yes, but it will be three working days'. It's the 9th. What's 9 – 5? Well, whatever it is, its more then three!! Then she actually suggests to ring after 6pm on a Friday. Yeah, because I'm sure there'll be some guy in his office in NZL after 6 on a Friday. Stupid idiots. Seriously. Literally, I'd spend 30 minutes on the phone with these douche bags and I had at least 10 conversations with them over the course of a week and then I finally get a NZLer to speak to and in less then three minutes I have the Webs.

So, moral of that story – bloody don't outsource to a people who don't know or understand the Kiwi accent! Damn!

Sorry, that was a long rant, anyway, I'm feeling a bit bummed due to bad news that a friend from an online forum I post at, and I've known this guy for 10 years, died in a plane wreck a few days ago. I tend to write more when I'm a bit down in the dumps.

--

_Dedicated to Doyle (Because Lord knows you loved a good fart/faeces joke!!) _

_Your passion for the Unborn and your fantastic Agnostic Pro-Life arguments will never be forgotten. Your actions saved countless children from death and spared their mothers the heartache that abortion brings. Agnostic or not, God has saved you a seat in Heaven for the work you did to save those precious lives._

_You will be truly missed._

_RIP "Yodavater"._

**--**

**Chapter Fifty**

**24****th**** December **

**1303hrs**

Occasionally a dog will fart itself awake.

An incredibly amusing, albeit crass thought, and surely a sight many with or near to a sleeping dog may have witnessed! That was kind of how Sunstreaker came back online. Only, instead of a release of gas, it was a slight movement that caused the mud he lay in to release a sloppy sound, thus waking him.

He sat up abruptly and glanced around – or tried too, the blackness he had woken to was tricksey, it didn't help that his optics were on the fritz, had they been damaged? He recalled sustaining damage to his optics, or had he? He was confused. His memory banks were a jumble; he couldn't place recent events into any coherent time frame. Sighing he pulled his weary structure out of the mud. He recalled being upset, perhaps weeping… though it didn't seem like something he'd do, and if it was something he'd done, it be stored away in his memory banks away from prying optics, never mentioned again, not even through the link he shared with his twin.

Sideswipe.

Where was he?

Oh, yeah, now he recalled, he had started sobbing when the realisation that the link was broken between them had made itself clear, he had sobbed when he concluded that his twin, his brother, Sideswipe, was most probably dead – what else could have resulted in the hushed removal of the link?

"I'm gonna get them for you, Sides".

He growled as he lent against the soft wall with his lower arm.

The lights in his form were no longer in any operational state – had they been anyway? He wondered, but couldn't discern the truth. There was no point moping, there was no point in cringing about the deep unforgiving pitch that paid him no mind, he just had to get on with it, he just had to continue, even if it meant without his brother, perhaps even if it meant without his sanity… had he even had that to start with? Or had his brother been a calming effect on his circuits? He'd heard that somewhere, though, the concept that a twin or triplet Transformer, when faced with the loss of their other/s had spiralled into the insanity of link breakage. That they were indeed only one mind, one spark, and when one part of the whole was gone forever, they were not complete, they were not balanced, they were left to the inevitable crash that would bring.

He'd never met another set of Autobot twins or triplets, there were a few whispers that Jazz and Prowl had been twins, but they were, of course, bullshit rumours, and if it were true, surely Jazz would have "gone off his nut" as the humans say, by now, given Prowl had been dead a good several months. He had heard of a set of Decepticon twins, one had been culled at the hands of Ironhide, Magnus in one story, Kup's in another, and yet another detailed Perceptor doing it, that one of course had to be rubbish. As it was, the story was always changing in the minute details, but the big detail, the detail that the survivor had completely lost it and had actually turned on his brethren, taking out several 'Con officers was always the same. As much variation as there was in who killed the twin, there was just as much regarding how long it took for him to loose it completely. One story said just two cycles, another said a vorn. It didn't really matter much. And haha for the 'cons, the twin would always say. Sunstreaker pushed aside such thoughts. He realised he didn't have the emotional energy, or any energy to waste on such considerations.

Then something strange happened.

Well, not so much strange as random, but definitely very much welcome.

Sunstreaker found himself staring into a dimly lit cabin, a shuttle sitting in the corner and Autobots sitting in the centre of the chamber.

"WHAT THE SLAG!"

Springer was amongst them.

The green triple changer was up to his feet and soon bearing down on the gold twin.

"You son of a retro-slag! I'm gonna pound you into sheet metal so thin Megatron's rusting corpse wouldn't even consider using you to wipe his arse!"

Springer slammed the twin up against the soft muddy wall.

"Springer, cool your cylinders, lad, this ain't gonna help none".

Kup groaned as he pushed himself up from his sitting position.

Springer pulled back and grumbled a few unpleasant Cybertronian curses under his breath, but inwardly, was grateful for the old timer's words, it gave him an excuse to not exert any energy beating the twin, he'd save some face.

Rodimus just sat there, in the cold sludge, tired, and not in any mood to do anything. There was still that usual sheepish cheek in his optics, but in his mind, things had dragged out too long and had gotten way out of control, especially his control.

"So, when are we actually going to do something?"

Springer decided to ask, if only to protect his mechly reputation after not pummelling on Sunstreaker.

All optics, and one set of human eyes came to rest on the apparently lazy commander.

"Why you all looking at me for?"

Rodimus asked, somewhat stunned, but with no reason to be.

"Well, someone has to pick up the responsibility, and as I recall, _Hot Rod_, you're the boss".

Sunstreaker growled, only ever calling him Hot Rod when he was annoyed with the mech or just wanting to be a retro-bastard.

"Okay, so lets have a CPU storm. One, we're stuck down in an old human mine, with a possible cave in. Two, we're next to an old shuttle with a bunch of dead cons. Three, we're being haunted. Four, Kup reckons it's the ghosts of the Decepticon Matrix. Five, Magnus is completely nutso and offlined some poor bastard mech, and is now running around down here with us. Six, we're in the company of a crazy, unconscious scientist. Seven, Sideswipe is down here somewhere and we don't know where. Eight, we all have some level of injury and we're all dead tired. Nine, Spike looks like he needs to take a dump and I can just bet how embarrassed he'd be if he had to do it behind those rocks over there. So, yeah, any one got any ideas how we get out of this mess, feel free to make a suggestion".

"What if we dug our own tunnel out?"

Spike asked a hint of irritation in his voice, probably from the dump comment.

"And how do you propose we do that, in case you hadn't noticed, you're not in the presence of Constructicons".

Sunstreaker said sarcastically.

"Well, you have hands, _don't _you?"

Spike spat back.

"Excuse me? I thought I heard a mouse fart!"

"This is your fucking fault, you know, you sissy girl's blouse! If you and that no-good brother of yours could deal with your responsibilities I'd be spending Christmas with my family and not stuck down in a mud hole with a bunch of Autobots who are here because of your bullshit!"

Spike yelled.

"Whatever!"

The twin flicked his hand up and tentatively flipped the human off.

"Hey, just cool it, okay, this won't help anyone".

Jazz said calmly.

"Well, we have to come up with some kind of plan, because I for one don't want to be down here much longer".

Blaster chimed, but his voice didn't contain the usual "glass is half full" sort of optimism.

There followed the usual clichéd silence.

Spike sighed softly; he got up, and started digging at one of the walls.

"I don't know what you guys are planning to do, but I'm going to at least try and get the hell out of here".

"Don't be insane, you can't dig upwards!"

Sunstreaker growled in frustration as he walked over and began to pull at the rocks. Blaster and Jazz joined suit and Springer just stood with Rodimus and Kup watching.

"Lad, its going to take more then a diagonal tunnel upwards to get us out, and what are we going to do about finding Sideswipe and sorting out Magnus?"

Kup asked.

"Not to mention hauling Percy out of here".

Springer added.

The young Autobot leader took the Matrix from his chest and clawed at it for a few moments in an awkward attempt to get it open. It stayed firmly shut.

"That's probably not going to work, lad".

"Why not? It's a pretty dark hour, and you'd think with a Decepticon Matrix the thing would be rearing to go".

The aerial commander pointed out.

Rodimus continued to struggle with the gem.

"You guys aren't helping".

He pointed out.

"Yeah, well, neither are you!"

"Ooh great come back, Rod!"

The Autobot leader grew frustrated and gave up on his attempt. He replaced the Matrix into his chest compartment and turned and looked at the still out of it scientist.

"Kup".

He said as he approached the unconscious Autobot.

"If Percy is nuts, and it's the sparks of evil Decepticons that are causing all this, would that mean that Perceptor is possessed by one of them?"

"Um… yeah, where've ya been, Roddi?"

Springer sarcastically asked.

"Its possible Lad, in fact more then possible".

"So, maybe, just maybe, if we wake the guy up he could tell us something, well, the ghost in him could tell us something… like how to get rid of them?"

"Lad, I just don't know".

"Kup, for once you're being asked both your opinion and your experience, just answer the fucking question even if you don't know, just fake it!"

Sunstreaker called back from his digging attempts, which were rather delicate and vanity focussed.

"It's a lot more complicated then just what I remember".

Kup countered.

"Well, wouldn't it stand to reason that they once stopped the ghosties, so all you gotta do is recall how that was done".

Jazz asked.

"I think its pretty obvious that no one ever stopped the _ghosties_, they simply flicked the thing into some shuttle and sent it off into space, and the poor bastards who got the job of piloting the ship weren't planning on making a return trip".

Spike said as he pulled a small piece of rotten wood out of the sod.

Rodimus was about to make a comment when a sudden shudder passed through the ground.

"What was that?"

--

**Author's NB: **Yeah, I know "tricksey" isn't a word (my English major brother said it wasn't) but I like to use it cos I like LOTR. Meh. :p


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

"…subsequently the facilitation of the relaying parallel isotopical carbon nullification synathesier is back on the decided upon schedule, however, there was a slight miscalculation which was due to Decepticon involvement damaging several of the components, namely the magnetising stabilising circuitry located in section five, sub-section twenty eight, subsidiary section seventy two, conduit thirteen, line one hundred and sixty four, I am happy to report that locating the damaged component, namely a loananatron surge circuit cut has increased the output of the entire unit by fourteen point six five nine eight two three percent, which I'm sure we can all find mutual satisfaction, however, Wheeljack and I, upon further investigation of the unit discovered several small defects in the malifaxation relays which we have begun the initial replacement of, most of you, I believe, would understand that such a unit can operate efficiently without a malifaxation relay running at peak output, however, as with all damaged parts, there is the heightened chance, namely nine point three six percent, of the corruption of such a damaged malifaxtion relay spreading outwards via the subsidiary motiliation tubing thus causing a catastrophic defragmentation resulting in an erasement of the entire unit's memory core, now, as I informed, Wheeljack and I are working to repair this, and once it is running at one hundred percent we will endevour to move onto the…"

The Prime sat down, and while on the outside looked completely enthralled and attentive, was actually aware of his internal chronometer clicking down the moments humans called seconds, then minutes, then hours. And then there it was, Perceptor had officially broken his record.

After a whooping three hours, twenty seven minutes and forty six seconds, Perceptor finished. And when Prime meant finished, what had actually caused a cessation in Perceptor's esoteric ramblings was Prowl interrupting in that polite way Prowl interrupted to point out that such a malifaxtion relay thingie mah jiggie wasn't going to repair itself while Perceptor stood there telling the officers' meeting it needed repairing. The scientist chuckled good naturedly, unaware he'd actually been "fobbed off" (another human term), excused himself and left.

Of course, now it was Prowl's turn, and that bot, logical or not, could waste time on mindless paperwork and reports. There was something about a security breech within some section near some other section that turned out to not be a Decepticon threat or some cheeky human adolescents out for a cheap thrill, but rather, a family of ducks had found their way in and made their home by a small pool of water that had leaked from one of the cooling pipes, this of course made Jazz "awwwww" and Beachcomber go off on a tangent about the damage their presence was doing to the Earth's eco-system, so how about we start our own little wild life conservation park, dudes, or at the very least, leave those little duckies be. Magnus offered his two cents, which as Magnus always was, was short, sharp and too the point, the point involving a particular disruption beam. There were a few unpleasant words spoken before Prowl pulled the meeting back on track. There were several reports from several other Autobots, Arcee came in and rambled about "sensitivity training" whatever the Pit that was. Then Ratchet, Primus bless him, gave a series of veiled threats about mechs not showing up to their maintenance reviews – this threat seemed directed at the Prime himself who seemed to shrink low in his chair. Ironhide gave a plea for more guns, and to increase the size of the guns they already had, this of course set off Red Alert who demanded that this be done as the Decepticons wouldn't waste time patting cute duckies and their families but were building giant weapons of mass destruction and while such weapons would not be located in some dusty part of the planet, they did, indeed, exist and the Autobots, if they wanted to survive, servos intact, had to take it seriously. Then there was Bumblebee who gave a concerning report on information he had obtained on a scouting mission about the expanse of a Decepticon base they thought had been shut down. Blaster asked for permission, then gave a big spiel about the importance of morale, in that he wanted to start an Autobot radio station dedicated to enjoyment and not who's sneaking up on who in what region and please keep this channel open for emergency calls only, this got Jazz "jawing" as Ironhide commented later to Prime, about a "movie night" where they would all waste a few hours watching bad human movies.

There were a few other points of interest that the Prime did take notice of, but generally it was just another boring meeting... but to the Prime, something seemed off, he couldn't put a servo on it, but he trusted his gut and his gut said something wasn't right.

Prime walked down the corridor towards his office, deep in his CPU still giving contemplation to this "wasn't right" sensation.

"Something on your CPU, lad?"

He turned and faced the old timer who was standing a few steps behind him.

"No, everything is fine Kup".

"You didn't seem fine in the meeting, seemed a little distant if anything".

"There's only so many times a mech can listen to such squabbles and mindless ramblings".

"Perceptor will be pleased he broke his record".

There was a hint of a smile in the Prime's optics.

"When I inherited the Matrix I didn't think long meetings and stacks of paper work would be such a heavy focus of the war".

"Wars are seldom fought on battlefields, son".

"Perhaps. But I have to wonder if Megatron is buried under the same mound with similar complaints from equally boring mechs".

"Well, something tells me Soundwave is a little short when it comes to descriptive and Megatron would just pummel Screamer to shut him up".

"…they have been quiet, lately, I don't like it when the Decepticon's are quiet, Kup".

"No, Lad, none of us in the know like it".

"Kup, this is a burden only few will ever know, and I am not glad I am part of that few, especially when Beachcomber starts harping on about ducks and Jazz wants to be able to screen Kung Fu Panda in the rec room".

"What harm can ducks and Pandas do, Optimus?"

"You weren't here for the Karate Kid debacle, ask Prowl about it".

"I'll have to do that, Lad".

He chuckled.

"Well, I best be off, Prime, I have a few things I need to look into, I'm planning on having a crack at Percy's record".

Prime gave a small laugh and bade the older mech a temporary farewell.

…_wait, did he just call me Optimus?_

Prime stood quiet for a moment in the hallway staring down after the grey elder.

_Nah… just must of heard wrong._

The Autobot commander turned and headed back to his office.

He received greetings and pleasantries from any and all who past him in the corridors until he reached his office. Inside he discovered a naked femme sitting on his desk.

Not any naked femme.

_The _naked femme.

Pink, with accents of white and a hint of black and grey, with deep blue optics that welcomed him to more then just stacks of paperwork and digipads – which he noted were now strewn about the floors.

"Hello… Prime. Back from your meeting so soon?"

She spun around slowly and carefully with more intention then was needed, uncrossed her legs giving him a view he could have done without.

"_Elite-One!_"

He gasped, taking a step back until he knocked a vase off a pedestal that took pride of place next to the entrance. The vase fell; he spun around and caught it, before the priceless antique, the last surviving relic of a civilisation the Decepticons had destroyed, smashed on the ground. He looked sheepishly as he replaced it on its home.

"Ah… hah… ha… what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Optimus, you can be so cheeky at times. I _like it_".

She slid herself off the desk in a motion that was both alluring and disturbing.

_She… she just called me Optimus!_

The femme walked towards him and wrapped those long tapering arms about his shoulders and pressing her naked form against his, nuzzled her face into his neck.

"Oh, Optimus, I just needed to be with you, for just a small amount of time… take me here, now… before Chromia gets wind that I'm no longer in my office".

Prime pushed her backwards the force unravelling her slender arms.

"What?"

She asked, more out of annoyance that he would reject her then from any nuisance that she was physically chastised.

"What's going on?"

"What's it look like?"

She asked, irritation seeping into her tone.

"Primus! Op! I fight my way past that maniac Shockwave, I reprogramme the space bridge, I fight my way through 'Con guards, then sneak in here. Do you have any idea how paranoid that security officer of your's is? Red Alert's defences are insane! And for what? So you can push me off and play the my CPU is on the fritz game?"

This was a side of the femme commander Prime had never been seen before…

He was confused.

"I'm not…"

_Not what? Not Prime? Not Optimus? Holy shit, what's going on?_

"Prime, what's the matter?"

Elita's voice was suddenly calm, soft, gentle, she approached him again, with a concern that was juxtaposed by her bare form's once sexual overtones.

"I… I don't know… guess, guess I must just of bumped me old noggin'?"

_Would Prime talk like that? Would he say that? She seems to be buying it._

"Do you want me to get Ratchet?"

Elita asked as she touched him tenderly on the upper arm.

"No… no. I should be okay, just need to get mah head down on that there berth and have a good old fashioned re-charge".

_Okay, now you're pushing it, that's more like how Ironhide would jaw._

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Yeah… maybe its best you do, we can finish this up later, there little lady".

She didn't seem annoyed, maybe a little suspicious. The kind of suspicious that ended with a visit from Ratchet. She smiled, picked up her armour, reattached it, then left, leaving behind only her scent.

"Wait…"

Prime muttered to himself.

"Ratchet… Prowl… Wheeljack…"

He paused.

"They're all dead".

Another pause.

He sat himself down in his… Optimus'… chair.

"Optimus is dead".

Something caught the attention of his optics. He picked up the didgipad and turned it over in his hands so the shiney mirror like back stared up at him. And in that mirror like back stared the face of Optimus.

"And I'm Optimus".

He whispered. He flicked the digipad to the floor where it joined its brethren and he rested his head down on the desk.

"I'm supposed to be dead".

--

Prime wasn't sure what time it was when he came out of recharge, his internal chronometer had been giving him issues since that meeting yesterday… was it yesterday? The banging on the door told him he was missed, he barked permission for whomever to enter and in walked Ironhide.

"Ironhide!"

Prime stood and walked to him, grabbing at his upper arms with his hands in a friendly gesture. He wasn't sure if Optimus was the kind to initiate a hug or if Ironhide was the type to accept it.

"I'm dead, Prime".

The weapons specialist stated rather bluntly.

"What are you talking about?"

Prime replied.

"I'm dead, Prime. Ratchet is dead. Wheeljack is dead. Prowl is dead. Brawn is dead. Windcharger is dead. Megatron is dead. Starscream is dead…."

He continued.

He paused.

"You are dead".

"Is… is this the Matrix?"

"No".

"But I'm Rodimus!"

"No. You're Optimus, and you're dead".

"No! I swear to Primus, I'm not Optimus Prime, I'm Rodimus Prime, I took over after Prime died".

"You lie".

"What?"

"No Autobot would give the mantle of leadership, the Matrix to a murderer, a usurper".

"WHAT?"

"Rodimus is a murderer. He murdered Optimus. He stole the Matrix. You are not Rodimus and you are not in the Matrix. You are Optimus and you are dead".

"No, that's insane! I can't be dead! If we were dead why are we talking!"

"Because".

"Because why?"

"Because you are Optimus and you are dead".

Ironhide's once bright blue optics dimmed and then they were black and the black oozed from now empty sockets, the ooze dribbled down his face, and as it passed the plates of metal they rusted, the rusted plates gave way to reveal swiftly degrading circuits and pistons and other internal mechanisms that Rodimus did not know the names of. The ooze soon had spread all over the once friendly old timer until there was nothing but dust, and that dust blew away, the voice that was no so foreign to his audios whispering hoarsely:

"You are Optimus and you are dead".

He was back at his desk, the puddle of black ooze gone, the dust gone a knock at the door and Ratchet was standing before him.

"You are Optimus and you are dead".

"No! I'm Rodimus! DO YOU HEAR ME! I'M RODIMUS PRIME AND I'M ALIVE!"

"No. You are Optimus and you are dead".

Prowl was there now, holding up a rusting finger, the ooze smearing itself over his form as well, the accusations against who he really was coming thick and fast.

"Rodimus is a murderer. He killed Optimus. You are Optimus and you are dead".

Wheeljack had no mouth to move but his head fins flashed with black light as he joined in the cold hearted statements.

"You are Optimus and you are dead".

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Rodimus, who was, Optimus – for all intents and purposes of this rut, screamed, he gripped at his head trying to make it stop, it didn't, the bodies of those once brave Autobot soldiers continued to dissolve, continued to whisper, he ran past them to the door, he got out into the corridor and ran. The voices of those around him echoed towards his audios.

He came around the corner and bumped into a naked Elita One. She fell back, her body exposed in a way no woman should be exposed in public. She looked up at him, pointed her finger and whispered:

"You are Optimus and you are dead".

The ooze came from her optics and spread over her body, dissolving all but the feminine nakedness that he'd once so often fantasised about. He turned to run in the other direction and found himself facing Arcee, naked, and accusing him of the same. He pushed her out of the way; she slammed into the wall and slid down, still calling those awful words after him.

Naked femmes lined the corridors, their bodies mocking him with their sexuality, a sexuality he'd once so often desired. The mechs stood pointing, the same comments over and over and over.

You are Optimus and you are dead.

"NO! I'M RODIMUS!"

He dropped to the floor, his head against the wall, his hands on his head, rocking gently back and forward, his forehead knocking against the wall, tap, tap, tap, tap.

"I'm not Optimus. I'm not dead".

"No. You're not Optimus, and you are not dead".

"What?"

"You're not Optimus and you're not dead".

"What?"

"You deaf?"

Rodimus, who was Optimus, turned to face who had spoken, who had said what he had been thinking, what he knew, what he had started to scream.

"Sparkplug!"

"Yip".

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get you out".

The naked femmes and the oblivious mechs were approaching him now, standing around him like mindless zombies, uttering the same chant over and over again.

"Rodimus, come with me".

"But they'll…?"

"They can't do shit unless you let them. Now tell to get the hell out of your way, I don't' have all afterlife to help you, you know".

Rodimus found some strength, mainly from the sudden appearance of someone who knew he wasn't Optimus and that he wasn't dead.

"Get the frag out of my way, you whore".

He growled at Elita.

She stepped to the side, her voice still chanting, but she, and the others, didn't follow.

--

"Look out mountain? What is this, some sort of Christmas Carol slag?"

"Hey, don't blame me, this is your hallucination".

"I'm wigging out?"

"Well, that's certainly one way to put it".

"What's going on, Sparkplug, are you really Sparkplug?"

"Maybe, like I said, its your hallucination".

"I don't particularly like this, how do I make it stop?"

"I don't know".

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Well…"

"Oh no, stop, wait, let me guess, this is my hallucination".

Sparkplug touched his nose. Rodimus sighed and slumped into a cross legged position.

"Rodimus, there's a part of you that is Optimus and a part of Optimus that is you".

"But Optimus is dead".

"He is. And so am I, but Spike is half of me, but he's alive".

"Are you saying Optimus is my dad?"

"No, of course not, that would be too simple".

"I like simple, mind you, life is not simple, so I guess that's my big problem. Okay, realisation over, can I go home now?"

"Doesn't work like that, and you're wrong".

"What doesn't work and what am I wrong about?"

"You're not here to have an epiphany, and you're wrong about life. It is simple. It's the crap people throw into it that makes it complicated".

"So being Optimus, being dead, being in some dream wig out world, that's a complication".

"Only if you want it to be".

"I thought you were here to help. This isn't helping".

"That's because you're not thinking simple".

"Okay, why are you here, to help me, right?"

"Yes".

"And since I'm here, being Optimus and being dead, I obviously need help".

"Yes".

"Of course, I don't' know why I'm here and why I'm Optimus and why I am dead".

"Yes".

"But Prime is dead so that's one issue addressed".

"Yes".

"And since Prime is dead that would mean Prime is in the Matrix and this is not the Matrix and that would mean I'm not dead".

"Yes".

"So, where the hell am I?"

"Where the hell do you think you are?"

"Well, its not the Matrix, that much I'm sure. And since I'm not dead, this can't be the Pit".

"Yes".

"But you're dead, and humans who are dead don't go to the Matrix, so again, more evidence this is not the Matrix".

"Yes".

"Am I in my own brain? You said this was a hallucination".

"Yes and yes".

"So, how do I get out, you said its not about a realisation".

"Yes".

"So do I have to do something, figure something out?"

"Yes".

"This whole fragging debacle started with ghosts and hauntings and crazing goings on".

"Yes".

"You say Yes a lot, don't you?"

"Yes".

"And all those hauntings and stuff – Kup said it was because of the Decepticon Matrix".

"Yes".

"Am I in the Deception Matrix?"

"Yes".

"But then if you have to die to go to the Autobot Matrix then how am I, not being dead and all, being in the Decepticon Matrix? And for the matter, how does a dead human end up in the Decepticon Matrix?"

There was no answer from the deceased mechanic.

"What's that?"

Rodimus pointed over towards the horizon where a large ball of red light burned in place of a sun.

"Is that the centre of this Primus forsaken thing?"

"Yes".

"Will I find my answers, or at least a way out of here there?"

"Yes".

"And here I was starting to think you weren't helpful".

"Rodimus, I can only give you so many answers about so many things in so many ways. I came here to help you because you have my son with you".

"So you really are Sparkplug".

"Yes".

"Sparkplug?"

"Yes".

"You won't be going with me to the centre of that thing?"

"No, Rodimus. We are both on the outskirts of the Decepticon Matrix, if I venture in any further with you, I will be lost to it".

"Do I run that risk?"

"Sometimes the only way into a place is the only way out, and sometimes, if you go into a place, the door locks from the other side".

"I could get locked in here?"

Sparkplug nodded.

"Well, I guess I better get on my way, anything's better then being followed by naked femmes who are rusting and accusing me of being someone I'm not".

"Rodimus, the minds of those that reside here, that make this place what it is, they can see into yours, they know what upsets you, what frightens you, and they will use that against you".

"I'm not afraid of anything".

"Of course not".

And Sparkplug was gone.

Rodimus pondered what had been said, but only for a minute and only half heartedly, his way was forward now, towards the centre and towards hopefully escape and not entrapment.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter Fifty Two**

"Its your fault".

"What?"

"Its your fault".

Rodimus spun around to face his accuser.

It was Optimus.

The once stern example of Autobot motivation and freedom staggered towards him, his body showing evidence of the most horrific of injuries. Struts were broken, metal sheeting had peeled away from his frame, internal componentry was exposed and degrading, scorch marks mottled his body, the glass on his chest broken, his left optic missing, his right black, energon blackened, and other useless bodily fluids dried to the walking spectre.

"Its your fault".

He accused once more.

"No! Prime! I didn't kill you! It was an accident!"

"Was it? Was it Hot Rod? Seems odd that you'd make such a statement, that you seem to know what I was talking of… a guilty conscience?"

"No! Optimus! Please, it wasn't me, it was Megatron".

"How convenient".

Rodimus regarded the former Autobot leader for a moment.

"No! Frag off! You're not Optimus Prime! You're a demon!"

Whether or not the messy figment before him was really Optimus Prime wasn't the issue, Rodimus wasn't even sure if it was a demon, but it wasn't Prime, it was The Prime.

Suddenly Rodimus was on the ground, Optimus atop of him, unnaturally powerful for someone who was supposed to be dead, for someone who was a ghost, from a massive gash in his face mask black thick coagulated oil poured out on the younger's face.

"ITS YOUR FAULT!"

He roared as he arch upwards, clasping his broken fists into a mangled heap that passed as a ball, he bought it down on Rodimus' face, smashing it deep into delicately formed plating. The deceased gave another series of shattering blows to Rodimus who was now rather disorientated. Wrapping his fractured and death caked fingers around the younger's neck he began to squeeze. There was a moment of realisation that this was familiar, but regardless of any awkward sensation of déjà vu, there was an understanding that he could die here, wherever here was. Rodimus pulled strength from somewhere he hadn't realised existed and slapped Prime's rusting arms from him. A swift kick to the abdomen sent Optimus sprawling across the ground, a leg catching on a distortion of the terrain, the force tearing Prime's already damaged appendage from his form. The former Matrix bearer roared with a rage that was not expected. He staggered upwards, grabbing his leg and then began to hobble towards Rodimus, he began to swing it as a makeshift weapon and then smashed it down on the younger's shoulder. Rodimus stumbled slightly downwards before regaining his composure and with a quick re-balance followed through with an upper cut.

The former Autobot leader fell back and landed hard, twitching. He wouldn't be getting up again for a while.

"Gitzzzzooooooaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmauuuuulttt".

Rodimus stood over the former leader.

"You're not Prime".

He stomped his foot through the face, flattening whatever it was that past as a CPU.

"Its your fault".

A sudden jolt of pain ripped through his head, he fell forward onto the remains of Optimus, he craned his head and there standing before him was the former leader.

"Slag".

The headless Prime stood and grabbed him, the sharply fractured fingers tearing at his paint, there was a solid thrust and Rodimus found himself being flung towards the new comer.

"RODIMUS!"

Someone yelled to him, but he couldn't see them, and it certainly wasn't one of the dead Optimi, who were both now marching grimly towards him, the headless Prime being the most disturbing as his dead fluids oozed from the gapping wound on his shoulders.

"HELP! RODIMUS!"

It sounded like the voice of a femme, maybe… he couldn't be sure. But whoever or whatever it was, it needed help, and sure, it could have been a trick given his current situation, but trap or not, it was probably better then being here, now.

Rodimus turned and ran.

A quick look over his shoulder and he saw them keeping pace, even though they appeared as only walking. Rodimus transformed and accelerated, but another view revealed they were still within his range. A cold shudder passed through his Spark as it slowly dawned on him that wherever he was he might not be able to escape them. He felt his energy level start to dip as he pushed himself further, but then realised, they were slowing down, then they stopped. He braked and transformed, turning to face them.

They stood motionless, staring at him, well, the one with optics staring at him, about 10 human metres away. It was creepy. Rodimus took a few steps backwards before turning back towards his goal, the Optimi apparently having lost interest.

--

There are moments in life, moments of experience where an individual suddenly realises something has happened, usually something horrific. That sense was common across both human and Transformer species. When something happens so quickly that one is left wondering how it happened. That's what happened with Rodimus. One moment he was walking along the scruffy terrain that was starting to show more signs of rust and death the dim lighting offering an unsettling ambience, when he realised he was surrounded by pitch black.

"Rodimus".

The voice was now a whisper, in fact, if Rodimus' sensors weren't so acutely tuned from his apprehension, he would have missed it. It was confusing to him, as whenever the voice called to him it was coming from infront, but now it sounded like it was behind him, way behind him.

Something brushed against his upper arm. A hand. A cold, sticky hand.

He jumped, spun around, his air intake tanks flicking up into overdrive.

"Who… who's there?"

A touch to his back.

"STOP!"

He was then aware that someone was standing next to him, so close that he could feel the disturbance in the atmosphere about his form.

The fear started to seep into his soul, tearing away any bravery he possessed, the Autobot pivoted and started running towards… well… away.

He was now falling. He'd tripped. The loud clang of his body striking the ground rung out through the environment, increasing the speed of his fuel pump as he realised what this meant. A hand was on him now. Another and then a few more, he wasn't sure if they all belonged to the same entity.

"_Rodimus, please"._

The voice was a barely audible whisper.

Something in side him told him that that voice didn't existence, or it was just those things in this horrid place that were creating the illusion. Whatever it was that told him such also told him to get his aft up off the ground, ignore the hands and move on. Chances were it was going to get worse the closer he got to where he needed to be to end all this.

He pulled reserves of courage, or at least determination from somewhere within and pushed himself up.

"Fuck off!"

A human phrase he'd become rather fond of, much to Magnus' disgust.

He pushed at where the owner of those hands might be and connected with something cold and icy, he ignored the displeasure he had at the experience and marched towards where he hoped the centre of this was. However, the hands would continue to brush at him.

A flapping sound from over heard grabbed his attention; he looked up into the pitch and was surprised to see the outline of the organic bird. A crow, he believed it was called. Pitch black itself, but it was giving off an aura that enabled his optics to lock on it. It landed up ahead, its beady red eyes watching him for a moment before it took off again. Rodimus approached where it had landed, something was there, an object, in the dark he couldn't determine what, but the bird had been sitting at least at Rodimus' waist level.

He reached out with his hands, trying to feel for whatever it was.

"I implore, is there some body present?"

"Perceptor!"

"Yes! Who, may I inquire, is that?"

"Its me, Rodimus! I'll get you out of here, Percy, I promise".

"OH, I must say, Rodimus, that I don't think that is possible at this time. I appear to be trapped in some form of cage, and most interestingly there's no door or lock mechanism. Well, none I can locate in this current environment which seems to be unfavourably devoid of illumination".

Rodimus put his hands out and felt the cage the scientist was in.

"Well, then I'll smash the slaggin' thing open!"

He growled as he balled his fists and began to slam them down upon the cage, the loud clangs echoing outwards in a way that was rather chilling to both.

"Please, Rodimus! If you wish to assist me, I suggest moving on to the epi-centre of this environment, perhaps there you can find a method to co-ordinate my escape".

"Percy, I'm pretty sure this place sits outside the logic you're so fond of".

"Well, even in places of no logic exists logic! Even illogical patterns must follow a logical format".

"Perce, dude, we're smack bang in the Decepticon matrix".

"The what?"

Perceptor's ability to employ long winded semantics to express something that could be explained in a few words was lost.

"Yeah, I know this is probably going to blow that brain vault of your's wide open in an explosion of WTF but I ran into Sparkplug back there, and two dead Optimi and a whole heap of naked femmes all saying it was my fault and generally just being rather unpleasant".

"I say! How remarkable!"

"Perce, you can write all the reports you want about this _after_ I get you out… I'm pretty sure it's giving way, I can feel the metal denting".

"Rodimus, I do not wish to limit your enthusiasm for my escape, but I must theorise that such a phenomena as a Decepticon Matrix, its highly probable that its intention to hold my person captive will not be easily swayed by you attempting to disrupt the structural stability of the ca…"

There was a tiny spec of light; it revealed itself with one of Rodimus' blows to the cage.

It grew into a small dot, then into a line which spread outwards into a crack, which jagged itself into something that could pass as the delicate and detailed tapering branches of a tree stripped bare from Autumn. A fragment fell from the cage, and another, and another. Perceptor gasped momentarily, Rodimus stood back not sure what was going to happen and then the cage that held Perceptor shattered into billions of tiny dots of light giving them both a view of a world they would wish they'd never seen.

"Rodimus! You di…"

And Perceptor was gone.

Rodimus told himself that Perceptor's spark, which it obviously was as his body was _out there _had been freed and was now seeking to reunite – he had to tell himself that, it was the only way he could feel any hope in this dreadful Pit.

Somewhere, Perceptor woke up, and much to his relief, it wasn't in the Decepticon Matrix.

Rodimus of course, didn't know this, and moved on, the small dots of light slowing fading away until he was surrounded by the pitch again.


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53**

He was falling.

He couldn't pin point when it was he tripped or fell, what he suddenly became aware of was he was falling.

He flayed his limbs in an attempt to slow himself down, of course, he had no idea how far he'd fall and what would be waiting for him at the bottom.

He smacked the bottom hard, but as he slowly pulled himself up he realised he wasn't seriously injured, in fact, he wasn't injured at all.

Rodimus felt the wall behind him as he took a step back, holding his arms out he made contact with walls on both sides, he expected it, but was still angry when he realised there he was trapped.

"Damn".

He whispered.

"Rodimus?"

"MAGNUS!"

"Sssh, no need to yell, Rodimus, I'm right here".

Rodimus held his hands out but was unable to feel any other one there.

"I'm trapped in a small room, I can't feel any door".

The young leader whinged.

"Its above you, about twenty cybermetres".

"How do you know that?"

"I climbed up there".

"You're possessed you know?"

"What are you talking about Rodimus?"

"You're possessed. We're in the Decepticon Matrix".

"That's not helping, Rodimus".

"Of course its not! But it's the damn truth and if you don't acknowledge it then how do you expect to escape?"

"It's probably the Quints or…"

"Or what? Galvatron has finally got his slag together and did all this?"

"Well, its more then possible".

"Come on Mags, this is one of those situations where you soil…"

Rodimus went quiet for a moment. Up above him he saw two red dots. Optics. And they were staring down at him.

Then the laugh.

It started low at first, slow and uninterested. The optics glowed and flickered before the laughing began to increase; it became a string of deep, dark voice.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. HahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA".

"Who are you?"

"Who ever he is, he won't answer. He usually comes by every now and then and has himself a fine little chuckle".

Magnus grumbled from the neighbouring cell.

The brightness of the optics increased in their intensity and then Rodimus was aware he was being soaked with something, something that smelt familiar.

Energon.

The kind that had come _out _of a body.

"Primus".

He growled softly as he realised just how much energon he was being covered in.

"Magnus, are you okay?"

"Yip, just covered in more energon – he does that too".

"And you haven't tried to escape?"

"Of course I have".

"So, you've just given up?"

"No. Just resided myself to the fact I'm going to be waiting a while before I'm out".

The laughing stopped as did the flow of energon and Rodimus was surrounded by silence. He slumped against the back wall and wondered if he should try to spark up a conversation with the city commander, something told him it wouldn't work as Magnus was a bit of a stickler for socialising under circumstances such as these… well, circumstances where they were in battle or captured by the enemy, who would have thought one could get stuck in the Decepticon Matrix…

Rodimus wondered about his body, he'd gone into the Autobot Matrix before and when he woke he'd found Springer at his side cursing him out, so, was Springer next to his body now cursing at him? Or was Springer was possibly in here now?

_They're all dead._

A voice whispered inside his head.

Shut up.

He whispered back.

"What?"

"Nothing, Mags, go back to waiting to be rescued".

A small gust of warm wind hit him in the face. It was a strange sensation, primarily because it was coming in pulsations… then he realised why… someone was essentially breathing on him. In the small confined quarters of his cell, deep within the bowels of the Decepticon Matrix, something was standing in front of him breathing on his face.

The dark hid whatever it was, and for that Rodimus was slightly grateful.

"Magnus?"

"What is it _now, _Rodimus?"

"There's someone in my cell with me".

"Really?"

"They're breathing on me, Magnus".

"Breathing?"

"Yes".

"So its an organic?"

"I don't know, Magnus".

"Well, Rodimus, how does an organic get themselves in the _Decepticon Matrix_? Not to mention, an organic only breathes when they're alive, to get in the Decepticon Matrix, or the Matrix, you have to be dead, is there a dead organic in your cell with you, Rodimus? Perhaps we're all dead and we're in the Pit"

"You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of humour, Magnus".

"You'd know".

"Magnus, I'm serious".

Another series of putrid breaths smacked his face.

#_What would you think if I told you, I've always wanted to hold you_?#

"Rodimus. What the Pit are you on about?"

_#I don't know what we're afraid of…#_

"Rodimus, please don't sing".

_#...nothing would change if we made love…#_

"Dear God, I'm stuck here with a mad mech".

_#So, I'll be your friend, and I'll be your lover. Cos I know in our hearts we'll agree,, when we don't have to be one or the other, Oooooh noooo, we could be both to each other#_

At least the breathing stopped.

_#And yes it's a chance we're taking, somebody's heart may be breaking#_

A slight tapping on the dividing wall could be heard.

_#Ooooh, but we can't stop what's inside us, a love for each other will guide us#_

It was Magnus purposefully banging his head against the wall.

_#SO I'll be your friend, and I'll be your lover DUN DUN#_

Rodimus accentuated the "dun dun" with two heavy fist blows to the wall.

_#Cos I know in our hearts we'll agree, we don't have to be one or the other! BOOM BOOM CLASH#_

"Please, Rodimus, STOP. NOW".

_#I've been through you and you've been through me, and sometimes a friend is the hardest to see, oooooh, but we always know when its laid on the line, no body else is as easy to find#_

A small slither of light appeared in the wall as Rodimus smacked it in beat.

_#So I'll be your FRIEND! And I'll be your LOVER! Cos I'll be your friend, AND I'LL BE YOUR LOVER!! DUN DUN! Cos I know in our hearts we'll agree, we don't have to be one or the other#_

The strangely vocally gifted Autobot leader smashed the wall again with his fists and the light crack increased, the wall felt less strong, it started to give and then suddenly, with a large smash the black walls fractured and began to rain down on them in showers of light.

"What in the name of Vector Sigma!"

Magnus stood and looked across at Rodimus as the small dots of light gave them a strange coating of illumination.

"And you wanted me to stop singing".

Rodimus chuckled.

"I went from being a captive to being tortured. But it doesn't explain why that cell collapsed around us".

"Well, obviously, its because we're in the Decepticon Matrix which is evil and nasty and just doesn't like a good 80s love ballad, so it shattered!"

"So, essentially what you're saying is that to defeat the Decepticons once and for all, we just all have to join the choir".

"Well, not a churchy choir that sings all those depressing human songs about dying and hell, but yeah, maybe".

Rodimus stared towards his previous destination goal.

"I think once we get out of here First Aid will have to give you a good".

"A good what?"

Rodimus turned to face Magnus, he was gone.

"Guess you've gone back to your body, I hope…"

He started trudging his weary body towards the centre, wondering if he'd come across any other "prisoners".

--

**Author's NB: **I've been watching Family Guy on DVD, and I LOLed when Chris started singing Friends & Lovers by Gloria Loring at Meg's birthday party. I also imagine Rodimus doing a douchey thing of singing a song like this, if only to piss off Magnus. Haha.


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

**24****th**** December**

**1643hrs**

The menu appeared in his field of vision, it was of course in his native tongue. He groaned and brought his optics online as he slowly, groggily sat up.

"Where am I?"

Magnus found himself sitting in a pile of soggy cold mud. His sensors alerted him to the fact that he was in a mine that was known to the Autobots, a place the Decepticons had once used, only they weren't aware or didn't care at least, how far into the earth the old tunnels stretched. His internal computer gave him information regarding the lay out of the mine and more importantly, the fact that there were Autobot signatures up ahead. He stood, refocused his optics into infra-red and started his walk towards them. He took a moment to regard why he was covered in energon that wasn't his own.

There were about five times during his journey through the pitch black mine that he felt that someone was behind him, but with each look over his shoulder, with every detailed scan of the surrounds, nothing was revealed. If someone was there, and they were too cowardly too face him, they were obviously no threat. As he contemplated on this he became aware of voices. Up ahead, but muffled. They overlaid the life scans, he also picked up a human signature, and its initial reading lead him to believe it was a Witwicky, and since it was unlikely that Daniel was running around down here, it had to be Spike.

A large mound of dirt, mud and large rocks blocked the entrance to the cave his sensors told him was on the other side, the cave that contained the life signs. He yelled out a warning, both verbally and over the Autobot comm. link but neither was heard. He had to risk and hope that no one was leaning up against the wall on the other side. He fired a shoulder missile and it caused a nice big bang, a fire ball and a good sized hole to be disintegrated into it.

"Magnus!"

Kup stood up from where he was crotched by Rodimus' unconscious form.

"Wait, isn't he all crazy?"

"What in the Pit are you talking about, Blaster?"

"Nope. My mistake. He's fine".

The city commander approached Kup.

"Kup, report".

"There was a strange shudder, we all blacked out, but when we woke up, Roddi was still out of it, he's been in stasis for a good hour and a half".

"What about the rest of you, how long were you in stasis?"

"We dunno Magnus, all our chronometers are offline".

Jazz chimed, sitting on a mound of dirt away from the newly created exit.

"Mine is functional, in the human standard its just gone 1645 hours on the 24th December".

"Holy hell, Carly is going to _kill _me".

Spike grumbled.

"Spike was out of it too".

Blaster added.

"Who woke up first?"

Springer raised his hand.

"And Percy is a bit subdued, though, I can't blame him given the dose of the crazy he's had lately".

Sunstreaker grumbled.

"Where's that idiot Sideswipe?"

"We don't know sir".

"Well, now that there's away out, I'll go answer that question for everyone".

"Not under my command, boy, you're staying here until we can figure this all out".

Ultra Magnus said with his sternest voice.

"You don't scare me, old man".

"I have no interest in scaring you, Sunstreaker, what I will do, however, is pound your aft into sheet metal. Now sit back down".

Sunstreaker obeyed, because the cold hard truth was, as vicious a fighter as the golden plated twin was, as skilled as he was, Magnus was older, wiser, and sturdier, and holder of a far deal less patience. He was also a mech of his word, if he said he'd pound you into sheet metal, he'd damn well do it.

"Explain the shuttle".

Magnus said as he stepped over Rodimus (a little get back for the singing) and towards the aged Decepticon craft.

"It once carried the Decepticon Matrix, lad, that's what's the cause of all of this".

"Primus be praised, are you certain?"

"Yes, Magnus".

Ultra Magnus sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

"What? What is it?"

Spike asked.

"This is going to sound insane".

He looked over at a very sleepy looking scientist.

"But some time ago I was on patrol when something happened and I blacked out, I woke up in a dark small cell somewhere, every so often my captor would stand over the bars and pour energon over me and laugh. Next thing I know Rodimus is in the cell next to me. He informs me that we're both inside the Decepticon Matrix and that he assisted Perceptor to escape. He started singing and the cell walls around us shattered in specs of light, but then I woke up down here, in this mine".

"Well, that would explain your recent bout of… stabbiness".

Jazz chimed.

"Excuse me, lieutenant?"

"Lad, you were… it was like you were… possessed".

"…and it was kinda scary".

Blaster added.

The others all deemed it best, in their CPUs, not to tell Magnus of the carnage he caused while under such an influence.

"It was the same with Perceptor".

Springer replied.

"So the Decepticon Matrix is in the shuttle?"

"We've searched it, but we can't find it, just an empty capsule and a lot of dead cons".

Kup replied.

Magnus walked passed him and entered the shuttle to see for himself. The others, not in any mind or desire to wish to repeat the experience, remained outside. After a few moments, maybe five minutes, maybe two seconds, no one could hassit a guess without their internal clocks, the city commander returned. He stood on the step of the shuttle before hopping down.

"Kup, I take it you know some of the story of the Decepticon Matrix?"

"A small portion, I'm sure, son".

"Well, let me clue you in on a few things you probably don't know. The Decepticon Matrix is not like the Autobot Matrix or the All Spark. Its not a crystal or any kind of inanimate physical object, it's a being. For years it was a femme kept locked deep in statis, the Decepticon leaders would "interface" with her in a way where they downloaded their memories and experiences into her, rather then "interface" in a sexual purpose. Eventually the evil would overwhelm her and her personality and she would offline permanently, but before that happened they would find another femme for the purpose of transfer the information. There were about 2005 femmes, and with each successive femme the amount of data increased beyond her capability and she would be tortured in her spark. Eventually, the last femme, her spark was completely polluted by the evil that was in her data files. Her spark is the "Decepticon Matrix". Now, some Transformers have a spark that is, for the most part, indestructible, Alpha Trion is one, hence the reason he survived the merger with Vector Sigma. If VS ever was destroyed, A3's spark would be free to traverse the universe or find another form".

Magnus walked towards Perceptor and crotched down in front of him, running an internal scan of the injured mech.

"Basically, when the Con's realised their little project wasn't working out for them, that the thing was now out of control and had a body of its own, they overpowered it and locked it in that shuttle. The mechs who piloted it, they knew damn well it was a suicide mission. Their orders were to fly the shuttle, Decepticon Matrix enclosed, into the Sun. And Earth's Sun… well, it's a special kind of sun, well, without getting overly complicated it produces a sort of radiation that would erase the information in the Con's Matrix thus purging the femme's spark, but it wouldn't matter as they'd all die anyway".

He placed his hand on Perceptor's shoulder and titled his head back slightly so he could stare into his optics.

"However, she obviously got free and caused the shuttle to plough into the earth, her body would have been damaged at some point and the spark that is the Decepticon's Matrix, it would have bounced from her form and searched for another. And it doesn't have to be a mechanical being".

"You're saying that thing could have jumped into a human?"

Spike asked.

Magnus stood up and looked down at the man.

"Its highly probable given the history of this mine and its current state. You only have to look around, to walk down its tunnels to see that something happened down here a long time go that was not intended and certainly no fault of any human individual – rather, someone would have stumbled upon this shuttle and unleashed the Spark into their form".

"So, if this spark is jumping about, what do we do, how do we stop it?",

"Well, Blaster, if Rodimus is indeed inside that polluted Spark, then perhaps he is our only chance".

"Wait, okay, I know Kup gets his stories mixed up, but he said that all the Decepticon fallen leaders merged their sparks into the Decepticon Matrix when they died".

Springer pointed out.

"They did. They pushed their sparks into the spark of those femmes _before _the "mutation", for lack of a better term, took place. That was their primary purpose, to have a databank hold all the information about Decepticon command strategy and the spark for their essence, so one day they could live again. But a spark chamber can get mighty crowded, and eventually they will merge into each other".

"Then what's the plan, Magnus?"

Spike asked, wanting the incredibly weird conversation to end.

"My scans of the mine reveals a lot of damage to the structural integrity, multiple cave ins, it wouldn't be in anyone's best interest currently to attempt to vacate the premises. Once Rodimus has regained consciousness we can spread out and attempt to locate Sideswipe. Now Blaster, I want you to try and re-work that shuttle's radio system, send a communicae to base tell them where we are, I'll upload my scans of this place once you've established the link".

"Righty oh, chief".

Blaster tried to sound upbeat, but the reality was he did not want to enter that shuttle; he did not want to sit in a seat that had once held Decepticon pilots trying to get rid of the most evil thing that had ever spread through their species.

"Right, Kup, can you get Perceptor a little more alert?"

"I'll give it a go, lad".

--

**Author's NB: **Okay, so here's my take on the Matrix and the All Spark. I think they can both exist together. The Matrix of Leadership is what the Autobot leader carries and can give them all the info, basically like in the cartoons. The All Spark is like in the movies, it gives life. SO one gives life, one contains knowledge.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

The breeze scratched itself across his face. It was cold and lifeless; it almost seemed to suck the soul straight from his lungs. Its tapering fingers of chill meshed its way through his straight but wayward brown hair. The small boy had no idea how he'd come to be in a forest at night, in his 'jammies, his little teddy bear clutched firmly in his small hands. The red eyes of a near by owl flashed at him as it "whooed" at him loudly before swooping down from the tree to scratch at his head, its claws pulling out a generous chunk of hair, scratching him as it yanked upwards, blood ran down his face. He squealed and swiped at the bird with his little hands, he didn't connect and the nocturnal bird came in for round two. The boy threw his teddy, it missed, but it disturbed the owl's flight path and it veered away. The boy, lost in the dark, unable to see his teddy, turned and ran, hot tears pouring down his cheeks.

Up ahead he could see what looked like a clearing, perhaps he'd find a path way that would free him from this hell. As he was contemplating on this, watching his goal destination approach, he was aware of a snarling from behind him. He didn't want to look. It screamed and told it, whatever _it _was to go away. It didn't. It pounced on him. The wolf pushing the boy down to the ground where it proceeded to bite into the small child's shoulder, he cried out in pain and fear, tears pouring from his eyes, he clawed at the ground, wriggling his little dirty body in an attempt to find freedom.

A sudden heat blasted against his back and with the smell of singed fur and over cooked meat, he was aware that it was over, the beast was gone. It was dead.

"You okay kid?"

The boy spun himself over, crying pathetically, trepidation escaping with every exhale.

"Hey, hey, its okay now, wipe those tears and let's see if we can find a way out of this mean place".

Rodimus bent down and plucked the small boy up. The boy who looked a little too much like Daniel for his own liking, but there were subtle differences. The nose was a little wider at the bridge and a bit larger at the bottom, the chin was rounder and his forehead was slightly smaller. The eyes were a dead give away too, Daniel's were a soft hazel, whereas this boy possessed a deep blue.

"Spike?"

He stammered in shock.

The boy started screaming.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?"

Rodimus said, realising that the boy couldn't possibly be Spike as Spike didn't have blue eyes.

"What's your name kiddo?"

"Please don't spike me!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, I know someone called Spike, I thought you looked like him, but I was never going to hurt you. Just wanna know you're name".

"My mummy told me never to talk to strangers or tell them my name".

"Yeah, your mummy's spot on with that. My name's Rodimus. I like fishing and hanging out with my friends watching TV. There, see, we're not strangers now".

The boy wiped a couple of his tears and sniffed loudly as he sat on the mech's shoulder.

"My name's Chip. And I wanna go home".

"You and me both, kiddo. So how bout we go find the way out of here".

"I think its that way!"

The child Chip pointed in the direction of the centre.

"Good eye for direction, kid".

And he turned towards the centre and began walking, ignoring the mess of twisted dead trees and the unfriendly looking owls.

The Autobot Commander had been walking towards the centre in the dark for some time when he had heard the boy's screams. He'd gone to help and then found as he approached the child the darkness began to give way. So 80's love songs and wanting to help kids lightened this place up a bit. That was a good spot of information, he thought.

"So, you go to school, Chip?"

Rodimus asked after a few moments.

"Yip".

"What's your favourite subject?"

"Maths!"

"Neato".

"I like doing trigonometry, and algebra!!"

"Wow, that's pretty hard stuff; you have to eat all your vegetables so your little brain can do all those tough questions".

"Heheh, yeah! But I hates Brussels sprouts, my mum makes me eat them all the time, though! But I throw them out the window!"

"Oh, that's naughty!!"

Rodimus replied, inwardly wondering if this boy was really Chip or if it was some kind of figment. Chip, he recalled, had been injured. And if Sparkplug could dwell on the outskirts of this place, perhaps Chip could have been sucked in a little deeper. The Autobot leader pondered on these things and then realised that it did seem a little brighter, and that brightness was coming from the child.

"Chip?"

"Yeah?"

"You know who I am, right?"

"Yeah, you're Rodimus, you like fishing and hanging out with your friends".

"Yeah… but you _know _who I am right? That we're friends?"

"Yeah, we're friends!"

Perhaps Chip was in some way a child in this place, perhaps to protect his own adult cynicism from the fact he was essentially inside a great big Decepticon debacle. There were other possibilities of course, but Rodimus didn't think he really wanted to wonder about it for very long.

There was an uncomfortable silence, between them and around them. The darkness was nipping at his heels and while there was some dim visibility it was still eerie and struck Rodimus as something frightening and down right annoying. That's what this was, a pain in the aft, everything that had happened, everything that was going on now, it wasn't nice, it wasn't fun, it was a nuisance, and if Rodimus ever found himself in arm's reach of the Decepticon arse hole who thought it a good idea to create such a Matrix then he'd be having _**words**__. _

"Rodimus?"

The little boy whimpered suddenly.

"What is it, Chip?"

"I hear someone!"

Rodimus stopped and listened, and after a few moments he was sure he too heard the all to familiar sound of something in this awful place, following them.

"I'm scared".

"There's no need to be, it can't hurt us".

Rodimus was sure that was a lie. The Autobot Commander then realised he'd have to just keep moving, and stopping was probably not the best idea.

"You're the only one who can stop it, you know".

Little Chip said, almost absentmindedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're supposed to stop the bad things, you know?"

"Not really, no, I don't know".

Rodimus didn't know if he wanted to have _this _conversation with a child, even if it was Chip.

"Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to know about, and sometimes we do them because we feel others are making us, and sometimes, sometimes we do it for both those reasons".

"You're not making any sense, kiddo".

"I don't have to. I'm not the one who has to stop it".

"Well, that's extremely unhelpful, little dude".

"Sorry if you don't find the truth palatable".

"Palatable?"

"You know, appetising, editable, acceptable".

"I know what it means, kiddo, I just…"

"Didn't think a little kid could know?"

"Ah… yeah. Hehe. Sorry kid".

"That's okay, apology accepted".

It got a bit brighter.

"What…"

Rodimus whispered to himself as his more delicately tuned optics picked up on the change.

The young Autobot leader then changed the subject again, this time talking about his second favourite cartoon – he certainly couldn't discuss with a child, even if it was Chip, that his first favourite cartoon was Family Guy, they talked about sports like dodgeball, and finger painting and Santa, the Easter bunny was a logical follow through and Rodimus quickly changed the subject from Halloween over to school outings and where had the little chap been and what was his favourite. It didn't surprise him when the boy replied that it was some computer museum that detailed the passage of technological advance in the modern era and his second favourite was the Space Museum, but Chip had no interest in being an astronaught, he said he'd rather be one of the people who built the shuttle, worked in the computer room or invented new computers. Chip started telling Rodimus about some programme he was working on. Rodimus had never really paid much attention to adult Chip's work so could not say if perhaps this programme was recent to Chip's work and was simply coming through in some memory into this little version of Chip and as they walked Rodimus took note that the surroundings seemed to lighten ever so slightly. The view was not pleasant, as on the sides of the "road" they traversed lay bodies and gore and an emptiness in their optics which chilled him to his core. The boy didn't seem bothered by it, or he just couldn't give an identification to the shapes he saw.

The laughing started then.

It was very quiet at first, almost to the point that you could argue you imagined it. Well, that's what Rodimus told himself; inwardly while outwardly chatting with the boy about what Smurf was the best. Honestly, though, Rodimus added, he was always a fan of that mean ole cat.

The laughing got a little louder, and the boy then noticed it, stopping mid sentence as he said the best Smurf ever was Brainy. He whimpered and buried his face into Rodimus' helmet, the Autobot aware of the warm tears that now flowed. Poor kid, he mused. Poor me, a voice inside added.

As if that ghastly chuckling wasn't enough strikes of dark red lightening tore across the sky above. More and more forks joined in, and so quickly they started to merge until they had formed a rather disturbing face.

"I know what your plan is, Autobot, you will fail!!"

It scoured outwards.

"Not likely".

Rodimus wanted to throw in a few extra descriptives but given he was in the company of a child, he thought better of it.

"I'm scared, Rodimus".

"There's no need to be, just tell me more about your friend's fluffy dog, the one that pooped on your driveway and your dad stepped in it".

The boy started giggling at the memory and began to retell the story, Rodimus noticed a few extra add ons, it was amazing humans could remember anything correctly given their habit of exaggeration. The face glared down at him and the laughing continued, but as Chip's little giggles continued the face seemed to shrink.

"I know your weakness, Decepticon, and I'm coming".

Rodimus whispered as Chip got to the part about how his father slid down the road for 100 miles on the dog poop that was as big as an elephant's house.

_Do you just? Well, I have something for you._

The voice was in his head that time.

But the screams that rung out weren't.

It was Sideswipe, and his cries were the most macabre he'd ever heard. And they really, really upset the boy.

"HELP ME RODIMUS! PLEASE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!! PLEASEEEEEE!"

"Rodimus! I'm so scared!"

"Its okay Chip. Its okay, just try to stay calm, think of the funniest jokes you've heard and tell me later, okay".

Rodimus transformed, finding it rather strange that he hadn't really thought to do it before, might have saved time. He sped along towards the centre, towards the cries of his fellow Autobot, and then the ground split open.

The huge crevice ripped itself into existence right in front. Rodimus managed to transform with just enough acceleration behind him to grab the cliff of the other side, the small boy cradled within his other hand, weeping, and peeing. Rodimus was then aware of a weight pulling him down. He shook his foot to get the creature free.

"RODIMUS! NO! ITS ME!!"

He looked down and saw the red twin hanging on for dear life.

"Sideswipe!"

"Please! RODIMUS! FOR PRIMUS' SAKE HELP ME!"

The twin screamed, the child started howling.

"Everyone, just calm down!"

"RODIMUS!! LOOK!"

Rodimus looked up to see the face from the sky now standing in the form of a genderless transformer standing over him. It placed its foot out and placed it on his forehead.

"You will die here".

It pushed down. The force, the power it had, Rodimus felt the weight and realised he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer.

"Rodimus, we'll be okay, you'll be okay, to fight the darkness, you must first accept it".

The boy had stopped sobbing. His eyes were now glowing a soft aura of white.

"What?"

"Rodimus. We'll be okay. Have hope. Let go".

"No! We'll fall to our deaths!"

Rodimus growled to the twin.

"Fear is what will kill us. Either accept it and die or conquer it and find your freedom".

Chip whispered.

"I'll see you on the outside".

Sideswipe let go, and fell silently, with dignity, into the pitch below.

"SIDESWIPE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"What silly fools you lead, Autobot, that they will happily fall to their own demise, and you couldn't even save him. You've probably killed more Autobots then most Decepticons!"

"SHUT UP!"

Rodimus screamed.

The Autobot placed the boy from his hand onto his shoulder.

"Hold on tight, Chip".

He then sent that hand around as quickly and as forcefully as possible and gripped the ankle of the creature. A pain spread through him that was both excruciating and depressing, but he had no time to whinge, he flung the creature backwards. The Autobot then hauled himself up over the edge and sat the child down.

"Chip, get to safety".

"There is no safety in this place".

"Well, then stay here then, and don't' fall in".

Rodimus ran towards the still downed creature and body slammed him. A move he'd always wanted to try out, but most of the Decepticons had seen wrestling shows. He grabbed its neck and then began hammering its face. Holding it sent even more searing pain through his form, but he had to ignore it.

"I am happy. I am a good leader. I am not responsible for Optimus' death. Megatron killed Optimus. I am happy. I am a good leader. I can not be faulted for anyone's death. You are responsible. This is YOUR mess!"

Rodimus screamed as he began pounding with both fists, ploughing them into both sides of it's head.

"You can't defeat me! I am everywhere".

The Autobot then received a swift blow to the back of the head. He fell forward on the creature which then pushed him off. Rolling over he saw an identical creature, the one responsible for the sneak attack.

"Rodimus! Keep going! These things, they're just a distraction!"

The small child called to him.

The creatures then turned on the boy. They pounced and very quickly began tearing into his soft form.

"NO! CHIP!"

Rodimus ran towards the bloody mess and tackled the monsters from the human. But he miscalculated both his speed, force, and who he needed. The four of them went spiralling out of control over the cliff and down into the darkness below.

--

The Autobot leader wasn't sure if he was awake.

Everywhere he looked, or he thought he was looking, was black.

"CHIP!"

He managed to stand.

"CHIP! WHERE ARE YOU KID?"

"I'm here. Rodimus".

Chip said softly, weakly, the injuries taking their toll.

"I can no longer continue with you. You must go and finish this. You will find your destination still lies ahead".

"But, but I'm underground, Chip, we're at the bottom of a damn ravine".

"The ravine doesn't exist, Rodimus".

"What?"

"It doesn't exist. None of this does".

"Well, what does exist?"

"It exists and You".

"So, you're saying, all this, this whole environment, its just a figment?"

"Good bye, Rodimus".

"Chip, wait! I need…"

Rodimus realised, well, he could feel that Chip was no longer there. Not physically. He hoped that Chip had woken up somewhere, on the outside, and was safe. He then turned his attention to the fact that it wasn't just him and Chip that went over the ledge. Feeling around on the ground he was unable to feel any bodies or any parts of bodies. Groaning, he slumped down onto a cross legged position.

"Well, frag me".

He grumbled, rather good-naturedly.

--


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56**

Rodimus stood.

"No point pissing about".

He said to himself, a rather happy tone passing his lip components, despite it being a forced happy tone.

The Autobot leader decided on heading left, it seemed the best course of action and he'd just have to hope it came up under where he was meant to be heading.

There was no light now, with that happy little man gone there were no giggles, he attempted to smash the sides of the gorge's walls but that proved useless, all he felt was his fists sink into the possible muddy terrain formation.

He stopped.

"Wait a fraggin' minute…."

Rodimus turned and reached out for the wall.

"I expected it to be dirt because it was the ground that opened up and I expected it to be soft when I struck it because it was dirt, and I expected it not to give because it was well… a lot of dirt".

Rodimus struck the wall. It was harder. There was a spark of light.

"None of this is real".

A whisper.

He began smashing his fists into the now no longer dirt wall and soon little specs of light were flickering around him, floating into the foreboding environment, giving him at least a moment of vision. Then the all too familiar, but very much welcome, sound of shattering. The walls that had entrapped him fell about him and he found himself standing somewhere. Somewhere else.

"So you figured it all out, did you? You must be so proud".

The Autobot leader turned to face the owner of the voice. A different voice then the one that had previously tortured him.

"I have to give you credit, Autobot, I truly believed you would succumb to my helper here".

The thing from the sky appeared.

The chamber was large, it was regale, but not in a way that earned respect or awe. It would illicit fear, loathing and a feeling that told you that you were worthless.

A large Decepticon insignia hung behind a large throne which was where the "boss" was sitting. The material was faded, frayed and a little disjointed. There was a long path up to the throne which Rodimus was rather dismayed to see was crafted with the sheet metal from the faces of Autobots, energon flowed down the walls, but it was dark, cold, rotten, it was the energon of the dead. The room had a darkness to it, while Rodimus could see every detail, it was still so bleak.

"Take a good look, Autobot, it's the last thing you will see, but you will always be a part of. There's no escape from here".

"From the Decepticon Matrix, you mean?"

"Why… yes. Impressive that you figured it out. So many Autobots are so ignorant of the truth. Of my truth. Of the truth of this form. Of the Decepticon Matrix. Of the…"

"Shut up".

"Why you impertinent little whelp".

"Let's just fight and get this over with so I can go home".

"Oh, no no no, Rodimus Prime, I went to a lot of trouble to get you in here, you're not going anywhere".

"Who are you?"

"Oh, that doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm here to destroy you. TO claim your spark for our own purposes".

"So you're what, a mismatch of parts, a bunch of Deception leader's souls mushed into one great big Decepti-mesh?"

"You are only making it worse for yourself".

"You never existed, did you; you ARE just a merge of others".

"BE SILENT IN MY PRESENCE FOOL!"

Rodimus felt himself being flung across the room, he slammed into a pillar that had the forms of metallic snakes engraved into its steel.

The creature came rushing at him, a blur of black and red optics and stinking of death. Rodimus braced for its impact and took it easily before flinging it around and into the pillar, the creature phase shifted through the structure and came to stand behind the Autobot leader.

"Silly Autobot, I created this place, you can't destroy me within my own existence".

Rodimus swung a punch, he missed, or rather, the creature moved too swiftly for him to strike. He swung again, the same result. The creature continued to laugh as Rodimus unleashed every move he'd ever been taught, until exhausted, he fell to his knees at the other's feet.

"You may address me as Master. I think I will let you live a little longer, if only to prolong the suffering of your friends as they look down upon your sparkless corpse".

It laughed. Rodimus was less then impressed, he found strength, pulled on it, and upper cutted the Master while it was distracted by its own maniacal fantasies.

"You don't exist. You can't do slag!"

Rodimus lunged up and landed violently on its chest. It pushed Rodimus off with no effort exerted and watched as the Autobot leader skidded to a halt against that pillar. The thing reached out his hand and the snakes came alive behind him, slithering off their position and wrapping their long metallic forms around the Autobot. They started to pass through his body, unimpeded by any law of science or physics. One found its exit through his mouth, he screamed in unbridled fear as the realisation dawned on him that he truly was in hell. They started to pull him backwards, and the snakes passed through the floor and his own body without hindrance, it then passed through his CPU that he was being slowly pulled into the floor.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

He screamed.

"NO! NOOOO! NOOOOO! THIS ISN'T REAL! THIS ISN'T REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAL!!"

"Ahhh, the disbelief of youth. Welcome to reality. Welcome to _your _reality, Rodimus Prime".

Who ever he was, he stood over Rodimus, enjoying watching the suffering Autobot.

"Don't get too happy".

Rodimus flicked himself up, and punched the creature in the chest.

"How did you…?"

The being asked as it laid splayed on the floor.

"What, you think I can't fight off snakes? Seesh, you don't' give Autobots a lot of credit".

"So you can defeat snakes, you can't defeat me".

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Well, why don't you fight me like an honest mech instead of hiding behind those zombie powers of yours?"

"Why should I have to fight you when your friends can do it for me?"

He motioned with a finger and Rodimus turned to see Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Brawn approaching.

"What the pit is wrong with you?"

"Well, you did say _zombie powers_".

Ratchet lunged first, his body coated in dried energon, a gapping hole in his chest, optics shattered and smoke stains tainted his face. He held out his fractured fingers with their peeling metal sheeting.

Rodimus easily slugged the once surly medic and he fell back into the path of Ironhide. Prowl came straight up from behind and tripped over the medic and the weapon's specialist. Brawn made it to connect with the new leader and began clawing at his face, though his left arm useless, the massive black hole in his shoulder proof as to why.

"Brawn! Its me!"

Rodimus cried as he pushed the once staunch mech from his body. Brawn fell backwards and struggled to regain his balance. Wheeljack came at Rodimus next but slipped on a puddle of rancid lubricant and fell backwards.

"Okay, even I think that's pathetic of you".

The Autobot leader chuckled in regards to the creature. Yet, he had realised that those Autobots didn't exist, they didn't exist.

"They're not real".

He whispered.

He turned and faced the being.

"They're not fraggin' real! You just made them look like those Autobots, but they're not those Autobots, they're in the Autobot Matrix, not stuck in here, stuck in hell, you can't…"

Rodimus took a step back and realised something. It dawned on him. Something he had never contemplated before. The creature was realising that perhaps the Autobot was coming up with an idea that could destroy his realm.

"KILL HIM! EVERYONE KILL HIM!"

The being screamed as it raised its hands up. Various forms rose from the floor, the zombie Autobots stood, but their bodies now black and dark and without identification, they were just empty shells now walking towards their destruction.

"You can't get any darker then this".

Rodimus popped his chest plates and tugged at the Matrix.

"NOOO!!"

The being ran towards Rodimus, pushing his mindless minions out of the way.

"I WILL STOP YOU!"

It screamed, the voices of thousands, perhaps millions speaking through him, as every Decepticon spark, every tiny fragment of data rose up in revolt to stop the Autobot performing an act that could destroy them all.

Rodimus raised the Matrix above his head and it started to open, the powerful glow destroying any of the evil that got in its way. The creature tackled, knocking the Matrix from his hands, it bounced a few metres and came to a rest against a wall, the casing slowly closing back over its precious contents.

"I will destroy you!"

The creature then pushed its hands through Rodimus' head and into his CPU.

The femme was on the table. She was begging for mercy. An Autobot insignia on her chest. Energon oozing from where her optics had once been. A Deception leader stood over her. He spoke words that were not meant to soothe, rather to torment. You should be honoured. You are the first. And you will destroy your kin. Then she was gone, forced into a stasis where she was aware she was being polluted with evil and could do nothing about it.

Then he saw Decepticon leader after Decepticon leader dying, and with their final cycle they gave a piece of themselves, a piece of their spark, to that poor femme on the table. Occasionally the femme would change, a different form, soon it stopped being Autobots. He saw Deception femmes offering their bodies for the "honour".

These visions came with no time span and he was unable to give any thought or connection to chronological order.

Then there was the last femme. An Autobot. Not just any Autobot. It was the bond mate of Alpha Trion. An ancient femme with wisdom and understanding of things that to the most had passed. Her capture was a blow to the Autobot cause and a blow to Alpha Trion who essentially retreated into his own world, fighting the Decepticons from below the surface of the planet, giving his knowledge to Autobot leaders but only ever being seen by them and no other. It was how the Autobots came to know of the Decepticon Matrix. This femme was now its host and through her link with Alpha Trion she sent to him the information he would need to counter it. But sadly, she was then pulled into the deep evil that had polluted her predecessors.

Somehow, somewhere, within that place of darkness, she found the sparks of the Autobot femmes and she united with them and caused the Decepticon's ultimate weapon against their enemy, their source of knowledge and morale to go insane. It rebelled and it destroyed and Rodimus found himself standing in an ancient Decepticon base watching this femme destroy any who passed her way. She possessed a power that was both unnatural and blasphemous.

She stood over the Deception leader of that time and destroyed him, not engulfing his spark but destroying it outright. His death gave Megatron the excuse he needed to take complete control. Rodimus witnessed a conversation between Megatron and several high ranked Decepticon generals. He had never believed in it, thought it was a waste of time and resources and too dangerous. Let it loose on the Autobots if you truly want to utilise it as a weapon, he'd argued. Now a smirk spread across his face plates, he was the best to lead, his own section of the Decepticon army was more successful and more disciplined and those Generals died at the end of his fusion cannon when they refused him.

But Megatron was no fool, he had the Decepticon generals give the orders for her capture and detainment – if he had, and many had died in this mission he might be hated. And he was correct. Many did die. And he was not to blame. But he took those loyal to the Generals, their officers and commanded them to take the Decepticon Matrix out in a shuttle and fly it into the Sun of another system. At first they refused the order. Telling him to give it to another group of Deceptions, sub-ordinates, or neutrals', or slaves, or drones. Oh, but Megatron was so persuasive, all he did was hold the bond mates and sparklings of those Decepticons over a smelter and he had their complete obedience.

On the day Soundwave announced that they had lost contact with the shuttle, it was assumed by all that the mission was complete. Megatron took those bond mates and sparklings and in front of all those loyal to those fallen Generals, and the former Decepticon leader, he had them dropped into a smelter that was at a lower heat then normal. It took at least three planetary cycles for the femmes to die, about one for the youngest sparklings.

That was how Megatron earned his loyalty. Through fear.

Whether Megatron knew that the mine a base he sat upon contained the weapon he inwardly feared, Rodimus did not see.

Rodimus found strength to push the monstrosity away.

What he then saw was the bond mate of Alpha Trion standing behind the creature who was clambering for the Autobot Matrix with intention to destroy it.

"Open the Matrix. Destroy him".

The Autobot leader turned, standing firmly, with a confidence he had never felt, even as the "indestructible" Hot Rod. He marched towards the being and picked him up, glared at him staunchly, used a few words that won't be repeated and then flung him across the chamber. He grasped the Matrix.

He walked back to the being who now looked rather sheepish.

"Not such a tough guy without a physical body to posses, huh?"

Rodimus pushed the Matrix into his face, the casing providing only a slight barrier between the being and the thing that would destroy him.

"That was you, wasn't it, you reached out of your little hovel here and caused all those unruly shenanigans".

The thing started to laugh; the walls began to ooze with stinking energon and coagulated oils.

"You will never get rid of me. I will always exist in some essence".

"Yeah, well, good luck with that".

Rodimus knelt on the being's chest and opened the Matrix, the beams of light reached out and erased everything it touched, including the being he knelt on.

Soon, all there was, was Rodimus. Standing. The background white.

"Thank you Rodimus Prime".

The bondmate of Alpha Trion stood before him.

"No problem".

--

Rodimus woke.


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

**25****th**** December**

**0000hrs**

"Merry Christmas, Rodimus".

"Waaah…?"

"I said, MERRY CHRISTMAS RODIMUS!"

Springer bellowed before he had a good chuckle.

"Oh, I'm still in that damn mine".

"So, what now, boss bot?"

Blaster asked as Kup and Magnus helped Rodimus to his feet.

"We need to destroy that".

He motioned to the shuttle in the corner.

"Did you destroy the 'con Matrix that Mags here reckons you were in".

Springer replied. The city commander sighed with annoyance.

"MAGNUS! Oh man! Am I glad to see you!"

Rodimus threw his arms around the serious mech who cringed.

"I'm glad you accomplished your directive, Sir, but please, stop hugging me".

"Right… ahaha… sorry, big guy, just got a little excited".

"You think so?"

Springer said sarcastically.

"So, did you destroy the thing?"

Jazz reiterated.

"Yeah, I hope so. But that thing needs to be destroyed of, if only for the dignity of those who's lives were ruined by that slagging thing".

"I'll set to work planting some explosives".

Magnus walked over towards the shuttle without bothering to wait for answer or a reply, not wanting one and not caring either way.

The young leader said, hoping like hell that Sideswipe was alive out here, as Magnus and Perceptor were, the scientist still looking rather subdued.

"Spike, you guys are not going to believe who else I saw in there… Chip! But he was a little kid".

"I'm sure that's very interesting, and I would love to hear the whole story, later, after Christmas, after I get my wife to not kill or divorce me for spending Christmas in a mine after chasing ghosts".

"Yeah, but Magnus and Perceptor were inside there, I released them and they woke up here, that means that Chip and Sideswipe should have woken up around here too. Sideswipe is gotta be here, let's go look for him".


	58. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

**2****nd**** January, 2006**

**0204 hours**

He rolled over in his berth and stretched his legs to try and work out an annoying kink he'd earned from falling down a flight of stairs after, ah, as Rodimus was saying, 'an event requiring excessive fuelling to ensure no offence is given to the human culture on the first day of their planetary solar cycle', aka, 'I got drunk off my aft'.

Thankfully Magnus didn't see, that mech had been on the bureaucratic rampage after the recent events, which Rodimus was glad to report was over.

Sideswipe had been found with badly damaged legs in a small pit off one of the tunnels. His damage wasn't anything a rather nervous First Aid couldn't handle, who's own injuries had been repaired quite nicely by a femme medic in training.

The twins were happy to be back together, sane, well, sane for them and free from any ghostly goings on. They had made a series of jokes about how it was a great way to mandatory time off, until Magnus over heard and they were now due to start their shifts in four hours – Sunstreaker giving a quick snarky remark that it was more then enough time to recover from the recent festivities.

Perceptor had retreated to his lab to try and repair some of the damage, but ended up in his quarters trying to figure out what had happened to him and what the logic was behind it.

Chip woke up, was mentally stable, but would require another few weeks in care to insure his other physical injuries didn't worsen, this of course, provided him with ample time to do his own report writing about the events and his own experience – he didn't remember being a child, he just remembered being in that place, he wouldn't' say much more – explaining people would just have to wait until his report was finished.

Spike, well, Spike got a bollocking from his wife. However, everyone was surprised when Carly received a phone call from Magnus explaining the situation and how what Spike had done went beyond anything anyone would have asked of him, beyond his duties and as such was worthy of great respect and admiration as many would be dead had it not been for Spike, so, that thoughtful gift from Magnus got him out of the dog box.

Ultra Magnus had gotten back to his usual duties ASAP and didn't take any of First Aid's advice as to "taking it easy".

The mech, who's name Rodimus didn't know, was due to be given a full funeral service in a few days – it was decided it best that given the current human calendar events being very happy and alcohol filled, individuals would most likely be in no respectful demure to participate in such a solemn ceremony, as according to Ultra Magnus.

The other Autobots went about their business as nothing had happened, and for many of them, nothing had happened, and those that heard about it, didn't believe it.

Squaring up the bill, as the saying went, with the humans who Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had "annoyed" on their little rampage was a little more involved and Rodimus was sure they weren't going to hear the end of it.

It truly had been an awful year, Rodimus reflected as he stared up at the ceiling, having given up on working out that kink. So much death and suffering and general calamity, on all sides involved, it really was unfair. But life moved on, it had to, people couldn't just sit gloom filled on the sidelines and watch as existence passed them by. Rodimus was now leader of the Autobots, he couldn't mope about such things.

"2006 will be a good year".

He said out loud.

He rolled over fidgeted with his arms to find a comfortable position, craned his neck and buried his head in his pillow a little deeper, just as his kink worked itself out.

FIN –

**Author's NB: **Hehe, I was actually going to kill Rodimus, but thought better of it. As it stands, I'm not sure if I'm happy with this ending.

And I had actually intended for this to be a highly amusing romp where Ratchet haunted the twins for a few chapters, instead, it turned into _this. _Well, thanks for reading!


End file.
